


If You Only Knew (Who I Really Was)

by Jacqueemackee



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Anxiety, Blow Jobs, Casual Sex, Closeted!Jack, Condoms, Consent, Dom/sub Undertones, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Fame, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, From Sex to Love, Hickies, Hockey, Hook-Up, Hotel Sex, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Jack and Shitty went to Boston College, M/M, Marking, Meet-Cute, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Shitty Knight is a Good Bro, Sleeping Together, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, The Falcs, always use protection, bitty might be doing the same, deets exchange, everyone else still went to Samwell, jack pretends he's nothing special, meet-cute in a bar AU, more tags to come mwahahaha, motivational speaker bitty, peach tea, price of fame, privacy, safe sex, undercover!jack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-07-20 13:37:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16138349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jacqueemackee/pseuds/Jacqueemackee
Summary: Jack meets a cute stranger in a bar.Jack pretends he's not from around Providence and says he travels a lot for work.The cute stranger- Eric- says he's a motivational speaker, also travels a lot, and doesn't seem to care for any sports outside of football.Bonus! He seems to understand-even share- Jack's desire for privacy.It's a perfect scenario for a one-night stand.It's not like they're ever going to see each other again... right?Right?





	1. Strangers Meet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AndreaLyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/gifts), [the_one_that_fell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_one_that_fell/gifts).



> AU where Jack and Shitty went to Boston College, everyone else went to Samwell. Bitty's life took a very different turn without Jack around to coach him through his checking block. Takes place at the beginning of Jack's 3rd year with the Falconers.
> 
> NHL and NBA seasons begin in early October, National Coming Out Day is October 11th.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday night, part 1.

Jack is feeling twitchy. Restless. Crawling sensations under his skin and itchiness under his fingernails. His regular breathing exercises aren’t working- he has too much energy- and the season-opener game is tomorrow so he is supposed to be taking it easy and not squeezing in an extra workout to take the edge off. His luxurious, spacious apartment feels too small and plain and too, too quiet, like he is just a tiny figure bouncing in the void. He needs  _something_ , but he isn’t sure what.

He texts Shitty.

-Hey. I think I need to get out. I don’t want to talk or be social, but it’d be nice to be around people for a little while. Any suggestions?

_~Yeah, bro. There’s a bar not too far from you that serves grilled chicken and roasted vegetables for you jock-types but the owner is indifferent towards all ice sports and never shows them on the screen. Nice, long bar with cozy stools so you can hang out for the evening with people on either side and never have to look anyone in the face. NBA just started their season, you can check out the opening highlights._

-Thanks, Shits. I promise we’ll do something properly social soon.

_~Anytime, brah. And don’t worry, you’ll be back to regularly scheduled levels of bitchy in no time._

-What’s that supposed to mean?

_~It means that I’ve been through 4 end-of-pre-season-and-start-of-regular-season freakouts as your teammate and 2 at the omg-now-I’m-in-the-NHL-crank-it-to-11 level and I’m really proud of you for reaching out like this and asking for advice before you got to panic attack levels. Let me know how your night turns out, yeah?_

-Yeah. Thanks again.

Shitty texts him the name and address and Jack heads out of his apartment to drive over. This will help. This is what he needs. Just to get out of his head and be around people for a while. Remember there is an entire world out there without hockey and there were places he could go, even in Providence, where no one would care about him. He still carefully makes sure he isn’t wearing any Falconers gear, though. He finds a floral snapback Shitty had left in his car and decides to pull that down over his eyes for good measure, too. No one would expect the Falconer’s alternate captain and lead scorer to wear something so… hipster.

The bar is as casual and homey as Shitty promised and Jack settles himself at the very end, where it's dimmest, with an empty stool between him and a young man wearing an oversized sweatshirt with the hood pulled up. The bar was less than half-full this early and there were empty seats with more open space at the other end, but Jack wants to steer clear of the group of women enjoying happy hour. They look as if they might be on the lookout for dates and Jack could not handle turning down any advances tonight. If they started talking to him, he might be recognized, and he didn’t want to cement his awkward hockey robot reputation any further tonight. Sooner or later somebody was going to notice that he turned down  _all_  the women who approached him, not just most of them, and the questions would begin. Best to avoid it all in the first place.

Jack eats his chicken and vegetables and drinks seltzer water just to have something fizzy and watches basketball on the screens. It’s… nice. Something’s still missing and he’s still feeling a little isolated but the crawling under his skin has subsided to a light buzz and he can do this.

The bartender comes by to take away Jack’s plate and refill his drink when the man two stools over interrupts. “Excuse me, do y’all get the NCAA football games on here?”

The bartender raises an eyebrow, either at the request or the soft Southern drawl, and turns to Jack. “OK to change the channel?” Jack nods and the bartender flips the remote for the nearest screen over to the man with a hoodie, who snatches it out of mid-air with a graceful hand.

Jack has a soft spot for anyone who enjoys college sports- possibly because of his 4 years of playing for Boston College alongside Shitty- so he decides to chance a conversation. Besides, this guy is clearly new to the area or from out of town, with an accent that thick. He chances, “Prefer the amateurs to the professionals, eh?”

The man snorts a little but doesn’t look over. “With the professionals, you always have to worry what they’re all getting up to in their free time, alone and far from home with way more money than most young men can handle. Maybe it’s naïve, but when I think college sports, I think about classes and beautiful campuses and teachers and coaches and RAs looking out for them. Playing hasn’t taken over their whole life yet.”

His voice is smooth and beautiful, lilting in Jack’s ears, and suddenly he wishes he could just sit here and listen to him talk all night. He wonders if his face is as honey-sweet as his voice. Jack peeks over, trying not to be obvious. Skinny jeans are wrapped around slender legs that somehow seem more strong than scrawny, but the hoodie falls to his hips and is obscuring everything but his hands, the profile of his face, hints of eyelashes and an upturned nose, small mouth, and blonde bangs falling over his forehead. Jack scrambles to keep the conversation going but oh God, is he bad at small talk. “That the only reason?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees one side of that mouth turn up into a grin. “Welllllll….. you got me. My daddy coaches football and he’s got some good prospects in division I NCAA right now. He always appreciates when I keep up on how his boys are doing.”

“High school?”

“Yep. Best full-ride scholarship to school size ratio of any football team in Georgia.”

“Not from around here, are you?”

A laugh, sudden and surprised, rich but so, so musical. “Like you’re one to talk. Canadian, eh?”

Jack blushes suddenly and grins. “I travel a lot for work.”

“Me too, mister. I’m all over the place for my job but live in L.A. most of the time. Small-town Georgia was just too small-minded for me.”

“Oh.” Jack can guess why. The lithe figure, the soft voice, the probably ultra-masculine football coach father. He scrambles to keep the conversation going, to cover up the racing of his heart, and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “So, what is it you do?”

Stupid. Stupid, stupid. He is going to answer and then he is going to ask Jack the same question right back, and Jack is going to say…..?

A long pause, and then a quiet answer. “I’m a motivational speaker. I go around the country and offer queer teens hope, that life will get better, that friends and love and acceptance are out there, that high school isn’t forever. The courage to be honest when they can, but the reassurance that it’s okay if they have to hide. Unless their home life is really bad, sometimes it is better to keep quiet and keep your head down rather than risk being thrown out on the streets at age 16 or get packed off to conversion therapy, but it’s still hard. I try to give them an outlet, a safe way to express themselves.”

“That’s amazing,” Jack responds, because it is but also because he suddenly feels like he’ll say anything to keep this conversation going, if he could only figure out how. “I, um, I’m, uh, I’m- euh- Jack, by the way.”

The man swivels in his stool and looks Jack full in the face, shifting gracefully over to the stool in-between them and reaching out a hand. “I’m Eric.” Jack takes the hand automatically, distantly noticing the long, slender fingers, the softness of the skin contrasting with the strength of the grip, but it’s all fading in the face of, well, this  _face._  The man-  _Eric_ \- is absolutely gorgeous. A cupid’s bow mouth quirked into an inviting smile, a sprinkling of freckles across tanned cheeks, lovely brown eyes framed by long, delicate eyelashes. His hair looks buzzed at the sides but a shock of soft blonde hair tumbling down over his forehead has Jack’s fingers itching to run through it and brush it back.

Jack realizes he is still staring and still holding Eric’s hand and Eric is looking at him expectantly and finally Jack mutters red-faced, “It- euh- it’s a… pleasure to meet you, Eric.” He didn’t mean for it to come out so low and throaty, didn’t mean to pull away his hand so slow it felt like he was caressing Eric’s fingers, he was just trying to keep his voice down and control his shaking, and…..

Eric doesn’t seem to mind. He smiles softly and looks almost relieved before saying, “You, too, Jack.” And  _crisse,_  Jack wants to hear him say his name again. He hadn’t come here looking for a hook-up, he swore, but now he can’t stop thinking about the idea. Jack had hinted that he was from out of town, just passing through for work, and Eric was, too. Soon he’d be back to L.A. and warm weather and places where they didn’t care about hockey because if there was one place not many LGBTQ teens were found, it was the hockey rink, homophobic cesspool that most locker rooms were. That reminds him….

“Is it hard? To cheer on high school and college football when the sports world is so hard on the kids that are different?”

Eric blinks in surprise and gives Jack an approving smile. “It absolutely is. That’s part of what I hope my work accomplishes. A toxic team can destroy its players, but a supportive one can hold them together through so many challenges. People need to find their support, their circle. That’s part of what my daddy is trying to do with his team. After I… after he started at the school he’s at now, he put a stronger focus on everyone on the team being there for everyone else, no matter what. That team unity and cohesion didn’t depend on everyone being the same or equally talented, but on building each other up and making them feel at home and being there when things get rough. A lot of coaches don’t do that, both in high school, and in the professional world. They throw everything behind one or two star athletes and suddenly the rest of the team is fighting with each other to be the best, to get noticed, to get their fair share of the coach’s time. And the star players let it go to their head, get cocky, don’t even notice the other players or treat them like trash, and act out like their actions have no consequences and can do no wrong. Or they burn out, unable to handle the stress, or get knocked out with stupid injuries from repetitive motion and too much time on the field. He says that when the focus is on the whole team and coming together as one, a lot of the petty insults and bickering drop away.”

Jack thinks a little guiltily of his own star spot on the Falconers, and the way plays and the starting line have been shaped around him. He, Marty, Guy, Tater, Poots, and Snowy are an incredible first-line, and the second-line is pretty good, too, but the Falconers are an expansion team and they haven’t really built up the third and fourth lines to the point where they need to be. And, perhaps, haven’t given the third and fourth lines as much of the coaches’ time and attention as they need? It’s something to think about, anyway. He tries not to think about the strain that being the star player and competing for first draft pick had on him in the past and….

“So, how’s that working for him, eh?”

“It’s getting there. He doesn’t always have a choice. When a scout comes out to assess a player, yeah, he’ll change up plays and strategy and the lines to show them off to their best advantage. It means a lot to him that as many of his boys get a chance to play college ball as possible. Most of them don’t have the grades to get enough academic scholarships so football is their own chance at a higher education. But he doesn’t make them the focus of every game, every season the way a lot of high school coaches do- and some pro teams, too- so they last longer, and get injured less, and love the game more, and remember that the team is more than just a showcase for their skills.”

“That’s… wow.”

This is the best opening Jack is going to get.

This is the time to be brave.

He’s had endless conversations with Shitty about how, whether deliberately or not, Jack is “straight-presenting” and while it’s “heternormatively awful" to guess someone’s orientation based on appearances, he knows it’s a matter of safety and self-protection that leads most queer guys to look Jack over and decide he’s not worth the risk without some evidence to the contrary.

It’s up to Jack to provide that.

He continues, slowly, carefully, his voice barely more than a murmur. “The guys I work with… they’re great. It’s a really masculine field and performance is everything, but they’re… warm. Accepting. They know I’m…. different… but as long as I work hard and do my job, they treat me just the same. Even tease me a little bit. Our bosses know, too. But our…. clients… customers… they want not just the substance, but the image and the hype, too. And we’re a team, we absolutely are, so if our clients found out about me and were outraged, they would stand up for me and protect me and do their best to show support. And that’s great, that’s so much better than other guys, who worry they’d be fired or transferred to a far-away office or laid off with some flimsy excuse, but… it means my co-workers would suffer, too. The backlash would affect all of us. Even just a 20% drop in income and support would bring about a lot of hardship. My job might be safe, but we may not be able to afford all the support staff we’d need, and those people have lives and families of their own. They don’t deserve to be laid off because clients don’t want me around. Or management would start playing it too safe, be reluctant to make the bold decisions they need to in order to grow. And anywhere we went, the clients could turn hostile at any time, using any mistake I made to try and bring me down, argue that I didn’t deserve to be there and that my…. differences… were distracting and selfish and taking away from what the team was trying to accomplish.”

“Oh, Jack….” Eric whispers and adjusts in his stool, reaching out for just a moment to touch a hand to Jack’s arm, before pulling away and hiding it in his sleeve again. “That sounds awful. What are your higher-ups doing to protect you?”

“It’s not me I’m worried about, too much. It’s all the young people, like the ones you work with, that might look at what’s happening and decide they don’t want to go into my field, that it’s just too toxic to take. But…. they’re trying. They have plans. They’re looking for new clients, younger ones that they hope will be more progressive and open-minded. Sponsoring stuff, highlighting charities, trying to subtly get the message across about where the company stands without suggesting anything about any of the workers. Hoping to ease the way for me a little bit for when I take the next step, if…. when… if I ever take it.”

Jack feels like he has all the subtlety of a sledge-hammer but he can tell that Eric got the message without him having to blurt out something he couldn’t plausibly deny later, if needed. And the Falconers  _do_ have plans. They’re sponsoring a bunch of teen leagues this year and one of them is explicitly for LGBTQIA+ teens who may not feel at home in other leagues. The team is all going to use pride tape for National Coming Out Day next week. They’ll be inviting more publicly out performers to team up on stuff and do more with You Can Play and other organizations. The social media team is going after platforms other teams are neglecting, trying to brand the team as fun and open-minded and not weighed down by old prejudices and ideas because they’re a new team with a new approach to the sport. But until (unless?) Jack comes out, it’ll all just seem like lip service. Plenty of fans that might tolerate a token gesture towards inclusion would have very different things to say if they knew a queer man was in the locker room.

“And in your personal life, if you don’t mind me asking? Do you have support there, too?” Eric’s voice is soft, to match Jack’s own, and Jack can’t tell if Eric is just making conversation or showing genuine concern for him or could possibly be trying to ask, ‘do you have a boyfriend?’ with the same type of subtlety that Jack’s been using.  _Crisse_ , he’s so bad at reading signals. This beautiful man couldn’t possibly be interested, could he? Have the same ideas about the relative safety and privacy of two travelers passing through town?

“My best friend from college, he- euh- majored in Women, Gender, and Sexuality Studies so he’s all-inclusive, all the time. Nothing fazes him. But I was so worried about people asking questions that I never really got close to anyone else and now I’m working and he’s off to law school and I travel so much that I really only talk to him and the guys I work with. And they’re great, we’re close, but I always feel like the odd one out because they all either have families or are looking to go out and party or have double dates with their girlfriends so I, uh, mostly just stay home when they go out. They say I’m welcome any time, but….”

He trails off as the bartender comes up to refill their drinks. He feels silenced, all at once, the bartender walking back and forth, the tables behind them slowly filling up as the night goes on, the women at the other end of the bar getting noisier and looking more obviously at the men around them. If he keeps going, he’s going to blurt out something, be overheard, be recognized, be interrupted, be  _outed_ , and he can’t leave because Eric is here and he’s listening, really listening, and if he goes he’ll never see him again and-

Eric seems to notice him glancing around nervously but he just gently quirks an eyebrow and inquires, “And tonight? What brings you out?”

“Just wanted some conversation, I guess. I’m not much for crowds but my place was just too empty. Quiet. Felt like an echo chamber.”

“And now you’d like to talk more but this place is getting just a bit too noisy and crowded?”

He noticed…. But he didn’t…. he wasn’t… was Eric suggesting….?

He swallows hard and nods. “Yes, please.”

“Now, I know you’re probably just sick of hotel rooms, but I promise that mine is cozier than most and I brought along a lovely selection of herbal teas that’ll make just anybody feel right at home, if it’s not too forward to say so.”

Jack gapes a little and he’s not sure what his face looks like, but Eric pulls back a little and adds hastily, “We can just talk! I’m not trying to pressure y’all or anything. You just looked a little uncomfortable with all the people around and I thought you might want somewhere safe to hang out. I took a taxi here, but if you have a car you can drive us over and leave whenever you like.”

And no, that’s… yes, it sounds nice, but if there’s any chance of more, then….  _crisse_ , he is so bad at this. He replies, softly, “I would like that very much, Eric. You’re so…. good to talk to.” He almost says “beautiful” but corrects himself last minute and it could just be the light, but he thinks he sees a hint of a blush steal across the tanned cheeks.

A crash at a table behind them startles them both and snaps Jack back to reality. “But wait… you can’t… it’s not safe to just invite a stranger back to your hotel room. Or get in a car with him. Or-“

Eric grins and does another quick touch to Jack’s wrist before drawling, “You saying you’re up to no good?”

“No! I mean, yes, I mean… you don’t know me. Someone could try and take advantage of your, um, hospitality. I- I have no way to prove that you can trust me-”  _not without telling you who I really am_  “-that I mean you no harm, and I don’t want to hurt you and-”

Eric’s eyes are sparkling, and his lips are twitching as if he’s trying not to laugh as Jack stammers to a stop. “How ‘bout this, sugar- I text my friend Larissa that’s traveling with me and has the room right next to mine. I let her know when we’re leaving an’ when we arrive and every so often just to check in. We have adjoining rooms and I’ll leave the door unlocked on my side so if at any time she doesn’t like what she hears through the walls or just wants to check up on us all then she can come right through. Agreed?”

“You, euh, already had a plan, eh?”

“You don’t survive being 5’6.5” and growing up in the south without a whole lotta safety measures. What about you, big Canadian moose that you are?”

Jack blushes at the reference to his size. “I’ll, euh, text the friend I told you about and check in with him whenever you text Larissa. I still need to pay my check.”

“Good plan. I settled my bill already so I’m just going to hit the bathroom then head out. Which car is yours?”

“Black Silverado Hybrid.”

“Oooh. Eco-conscious but still showy, huh?”

Jack blushes again as Eric pulls his hoodie farther down over his face before pushing off his stool and walking away. He gestures to the bartender with his card and texts Shitty.

-Hey, um, I just wanted to let you know that I met someone at the bar and it’s getting kinda noisy so we’re going to head to his hotel room just to talk and hang out. His name is Eric and he’s from the south and he travels the country giving talks to gay teens. I haven’t had anything to drink and I’m driving in my truck so I can leave any time and I’ll check in with you every now and then, okay?

_~Bro._

_~Brah._

_~JACKABELLE._

_~You forgot the big questions. #1- is he cute?_

-Beautiful.

_~#2- DO YOU HAVE PROTECTION?_

-Um, no. I didn’t think I’d be doing anything tonight. And we may not. He just mentioned talking and drinking tea and said no pressure.

_~YOU GORGEOUS MOTHERFUCKER, DO YOU STILL NOT REALIZE WHEN YOU’RE BEING HIT ON???_

-Apparently not? You think that’s what this is?

_~Bro._

_~Brah._

_~JACKABELLE. Have you looked in a mirror lately, you maple-coated Adonis?_

-I’m not exactly dressed nice.

_~I’m still so proud of you! You go and you check in with me like a responsible mofo and you have a wonderful time and you don’t do anything involving bodily fluids without a condom, you hear me??_

-Got it. Thanks.

_~Anytime, brah. And I want deets!_

-Ha ha. We’ll see.

Jack signs the receipt and accidentally tips 100% but whatever, he doesn’t care, he may actually have a  _date_  and he tugs his hat down over his eyes as he heads out to the door, climbing into his truck and leaving the doors unlocked for Eric and taking deep breaths to calm his racing heartbeat until a knock at the passenger window makes him startle and rev up all over again. But he smiles and waves Eric in and tries not to stare as he climbs nimbly up into his (admittedly over-sized) truck cab and settles himself next to Jack, pulling his hoodie away from his face as he buckles up. The buzzed hair goes all the way around, showing off a finely-shaped head and neck and contrasting nicely with the soft hair on top, once again falling over his forehead and swooping a little over one eye. An undercut, he thinks Shitty called it. Jack pulls off the floral snapback and tosses it into the back, wanting to match Eric’s reveal. He’s not disappointed. Eric flashes him an appreciative smile and murmurs, “Your eyes are even bluer when they’re not so shaded”, and Jack blushes hard as he starts the engine and pulls out.


	2. Not A Hook-Up Sort Of Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday night, part 2. 
> 
> Eric feeds Jack and pours him peach tea.
> 
> They use their words. A lot. Until they don't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We earn our E rating here, folks!

Eric directs him to one of the nicest hotels in town and guides him around to park by a small side entrance only accessible with a key card. They head down the hall and Jack notices that they’re both automatically doing a “bro walk”, hands in hoodie pockets, elbows out, 2 feet between them, long strides. It’s so unlike Eric’s smooth movements in the bar or his graceful hand gestures in the truck that Jack realizes how carefully calculated it all is, how good they both are at hiding in plain sight and trying to look like other guys and not attract attention, how smoothly Eric arranged his bathroom trip so he wasn’t leaving the bar together at the same time as Jack.

Jack was nervous enough about the other guests to retrieve his hat and Eric’s hood is pulled back up and they walk in silence. Eric slouches into the elevator and slumps against the wall and it’s enough to send Jack into a sudden panic. Maybe it’s not an act, maybe he misread things, maybe Eric was just being polite, maybe he had just been trying to find a way to end the conversation and Jack wasn’t supposed to accept, maybe he’d changed his mind, maybe he didn’t want to be seen with Jack, maybe…

It's too late now. He follows along dumbly as Eric heads to the last door at the end of the hall, unlocks it, and waves him in while carefully avoiding any physical contact. The door shuts behind them both and Jack turns, ready to apologize, to offer to leave, opens his mouth and-

“Safe at  _last_ ,” groans Eric. He grins, sudden and stunning, and his whole posture relaxes as he bolts the door. Jack entirely forgets what he was about to say in the brilliance of that smile. “No Friday night drunks, no nosy old ladies walking the halls, no gossipy staff, I’d say that counts as a win, don’t you?” Jack grins back and tries to agree but Eric is stripping off his hoodie and visions of Clark Kent/Superman transformations dance through Jack’s head as the oversized sweatshirt pulls away to reveal a blue, scoop-necked tee clinging to lean muscles and toned upper arms.

“Like taking off a mask,” he blurts out and they both freeze, Jack in embarrassment, Eric in surprise. After a moment, Eric relaxes again and gives him a relieved smile.

“Exactly. It’s nice to not have to explain that sometimes.”

Jack nods and takes off his own coat. He realizes suddenly how different his life might be if he had a gay friend or two who knew his secret, who might have tips on being better at straight-passing without just hiding all the time, at figuring out who was safe and who wasn’t, or to just drop the act and be himself around. Shitty tried, he really did. He was always willing to commiserate about “straight people nonsense” as he called it, but he didn’t have the bone-deep  _knowing_  that he and Eric were sharing right now, the carefully-constructed persona they both hid behind. He turns to grab a hangar and says carefully, back still turned, “I’m not very good at that part. Changing. I… tend to stay closed off, all the time, and hide, all the time, sometimes even from myself. I try so hard to act the way I’m supposed to, be the person that everyone thinks I am, that sometimes even when I’m alone I don’t know how to let it go. Be honest. Say what I’m feeling.”

“And is there anything I can do to help with that, Jack?”

 _Oh._  Bitty’s voice is so sweet, so understanding. He’s right there with him, and knows what Jack is going through, and when he turns around Eric’s smile is as sweet as his voice, genuinely offering, waiting for an answer.

“How about some tea, eh?”

Eric laughs. “Coming right up, sugar.” He flicks his eyes down and then up over Jack’s body and grins again before giving the back of Jack’s hand another little half-second nudge and heading to the desk near the window. Jack’s mind whirls with the possibilities. It had felt like Eric was looking at him when his back was turned. Had he just been listening, or checking Jack out, or both? Jack is wearing an old shirt from college, not too faded but a little snug from the muscle he’d put on since. Is it showing off his muscles, too? Does his ass look good in these jeans? He doesn’t even know. Eric’s looks amazing as he walks away, high and firm and nearly sculpted in those skinny jeans and it takes Jack a moment to remember he’s supposed to following along behind. Sitting on the bed seems too presumptuous so he settles himself into the desk chair and looks around.

“If you have a kitchenette, why’s the tea kettle over here?”

“Well, one, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the counters are kinda full at the moment. And, two, if I made tea in that sorry excuse for a kitchen, I’d end up baking all night instead of thinking sleepy thoughts and unwinding from my day.”

“Baking….?” There is no oven or stove over there.

“Ok, fine, making things to eat. I love my work, and it’s meaningful, but sometimes it feels like I don’t have anything to show for it at the end of the day, you know? It’s all intangible. Preparing food keeps my hands busy and makes me feel like I’ve really accomplished something. I can look down and  _see_  what I’ve done, at least until someone eats it. Speaking of, what’s your opinion on oats, peanut butter, and chocolate?”

“Um, positive?”

“Oh, good. I just love these no-bake drop cookies my MooMaw used to make but we could only make them in the winter because something about Georgian humidity levels and too much moisture in the air made them seize up like nobody’s business. Hotel rooms are always so cool and so dry that it’s just perfect for these and I adapted the recipe so they’re more like snack bars and I can make them in the microwave.”

Jack loves listening to Eric talk but it seems like he’s downright rambling at this point. Could it be that Eric is nervous, too? “What are they called?”

Eric bites his lower lip and looks embarrassed. “Well, um, I like to call them Chocolate Peanut Butter Oatmeal No-Bake Cookies. Or Bars, in this case.”

Jack grins. This promises to be good. “But…?”

Eric groans. “My MooMaw called them Cow Plops.”

Jack throws his head back and laughs. Eric pops the electric tea kettle off its base and brandishes it indignantly. “Keep laughing like that, mister, and see if I share any with you.” He stalks away as Jack doubles over.

Jack finally controls himself long enough to call out, “Please feed me? I promise to be good.”

Eric calls back, “I’ll think about it!”, but comes back with a full kettle in one hand and 2 dark rectangles in the other.

“I’m sure this is not in my diet plan,” Jack sighs, but accepts one anyway.

Eric huffs as he flicks the kettle on, “I’ll have you know that I drastically cut the sugar and upped the oatmeal ratio to convert these from cookies to bars. I also used dark chocolate instead of semi-sweet so they’re heart-healthy, too.”

“As long as they still taste good, eh?”

“Now, Jack, I want your honest opinion on these. No mindless flattery with me, you hear? I can’t fix something if I don’t even know it’s broken.” He holds Jack’s gaze for a long moment and Jack has the distinct feeling that they’re not talking about food anymore. Hook-ups are supposed to be all about fantasy and flattery, but it feels like Eric is asking him for something real.

Can Jack do that? Risk insulting Eric or hurting his feelings by not hiding or holding back? Open himself up to possibly be hurt in return?

He takes a deep breath, in and then out.

“Complete honesty, I promise. And you do the same for me, eh? Let me know how I’m doing?”

It sounds so pathetic when he says it like that, but Eric just asks quietly, “Worried about messing up?”

“I, um, I don’t always trust myself to read signals correctly. To know when someone’s being polite or when they’re really enjoying themselves. It means a lot to me to know when I’m doing something well and when I’m messing things up. I like… feedback.”

“I promise, Jack. I’ll let you know. And once I start talking you’ll never get me to stop, so no worries there. And speaking of feedback, why don’t you put some of that bar into that pretty mouth of yours and let me know what you think, huh?”

Jack blushes and obeys, groaning when the combination of rich dark chocolate and gooey peanut butter hits his tongue. “ _Crisse_ , this is good.”

Eric looks both pleased and proud and, oh, does Jack like it when someone knows what they’re doing. “Seriously, Eric, I’d much rather have these than dry protein bars after every workout.”

Eric laughs. “I know what you mean. Every brand is a different variety of chalk, all vitamins and no taste.”

The tea kettle clicks to a stop and Eric turns towards a nearby suitcase. “What do you like? I have a little of everything. Blueberry, chamomile, mint, lemon, Vermont maple ginger….”

Jack snorts. “Well, if it’s Vermont maple, it can’t be that good. The best maples are only found in Canada.” He flushes as he realizes how that sounded and is wondering if he should apologize but Eric just laughs.

“I did ask for honesty, now, didn’t I?”

“Pour me some of whatever you’re having, eh?”

Eric returns with two sealed packets that declare themselves to be “Peach Passion” and Jack flushes a little deeper as he pours the water into mugs emblazoned with “You’re Cute, Can I Keep You?” and “Hold Me Close, Breathe Deep, Relax.” He tries to think of something clever or flirty to say when Eric’s phone buzzes.

“Whoops. I forgot to text Larissa when we got back, and she wants to know if you’ve kidnapped me or something.” He strides over to the inner door, does a complicated knock sequence, and receives a muffled, “Thanks!” in reply. Jack pulls out his phone and texts Shitty.

-At the hotel. Drinking peach tea. It’s nice.

_~Super happy for you brah. You planning to kiss him anytime this century?_

-I don’t want to be pushy.

_~I hear you on that, dude, and I am right there with you on the consent part. But may I remind you that he invited you to his hotel room and apparently made you tea? Asking- and I absofuckinglutely mean asking first- for a kiss would not be outside the boundaries of respect and good taste here. Also, I WANT DEETS._

Jack silences his phone.

The scent of peaches and summertime fills the room and they make small-talk as they wait for their mugs to cool. Eric hitches one hip up on the desk next to Jack and keeps the other foot on the floor instead of grabbing a nearby chair. Jack wonders why but doesn’t ask. He’s acutely aware of how much bigger he is than Eric, how easy it would be to loom over him accidentally and do something that might seem intimidating. Does being a little higher than Jack, and half-standing, help him feel safe, or more in control? Maybe both?

They talk about their travels, the cities they’ve been to, and what they like to do when they have spare time. They both mostly hit up big cities, so Jack thinks it’s probably not too obvious what he does by listing where he’s been. Jack confesses that he hardly ever gets free time on his trips and he does enjoy museums, but really prefers to take a camera and go out and see nearby historical sites in person. Eric coos over the idea of seeing Jack’s photos and Jack finds himself offering to pass some along, as if he has any way of getting ahold of Eric or Eric has any intention of staying in contact.

Eric likes to track down the favorite local food places and try them all out and acts horrified when Jack doesn’t recognize most of the names. Before he knows it, he’s jotting down Eric’s recommendations for everything from “Best Philly Cheese-steak in Philly” to “Best Deep-Dish Chicago Pizza in NYC” and “Best New York-Style Pizza in Chicago”, along with strict rules about the folly of eating anything with peaches above the Mason-Dixon line.

At last, the tea is gone, just a faint scent left lingering in the air, and Jack leans back, feeling warmed from the inside out.

He smiles at Eric and Eric smiles back.

Jack’s mouth tastes like peaches right now and he knows Eric’s would, too.

He doesn’t know what to do next.

He realizes that since they shook hands at the bar, Eric has touched him 3 times and Jack hasn’t reciprocated once. That’d be a good place to start, right? He reaches out and gives the back of Eric’s closest hand a little nudge, trying to imitate the quick, unobtrusive touches that he'd used on Jack.

“This has been nice, eh? Thank you, for the tea and- and everything. I’m not usually much of a talker. It’s hard for me to open up, even about the little things and….” He doesn’t know where he’s going with this. He hadn’t thought this through. He’s so, so bad at this.

“And is there anything I can do to help with that, Jack?”

 _Crisse_ , that question again. He lifts his head to look Eric in the eyes and his smile is as warm and sweet as it was the first time he asked but now it’s… more, somehow. 

 _Complete honesty_. Jack promised. He can do this. He takes a deep breath.

“Your smile…. when I see it, I want to open up, let you in. When you touch me… I feel like I can talk, tell you anything.”

“Oh,  _Jack_.” Eric slowly slides off the desk, stands in front of Jack’s chair, reaches out one hand, and cups his cheek. “And this?”

“Yes. More. Anything.”

Eric brings up his other hand and Jack feels his face is cradled between the two- fingertips brushing against his hairline, thumbs smoothing over his cheekbone. “How about now?”

Jack tilts his head back farther to maintain eye contact as Eric leans closer. “Please. Yes. Please.”

Eric murmurs, “I do like a man with some manners,” and a soft breath ghosts over Jack’s face.

“Please, Eric. Please.” He closes his eyes and parts his lips, feeling Eric’s hands hold him in place for a long moment before a gentle mouth closes over his own. It’s delicate, and sweet, the contrast between soft lips and strong grip thrilling through Jack’s system. Mouths fitting perfectly together, not even moving, just holding still and feeling and memorizing. He feels like an offering and yields himself up, wordlessly promising to give Eric whatever he desires, if he can just have more of those touches, that smile, this kiss.

At long last, Eric pulls back to breathe, and Jack smiles up at him, dazzled. He reaches out in return and cups Eric’s hips in his hands, hoping he won’t pull away. “More? Please? Yes?”

“Yes, Jack, yes.” Eric leans over again, and Jack presses up into the kiss. One of Eric’s hands stroke up into his hair, around his ear, and down again to caress over his face. Jack whimpers a little, very quietly, and open his mouth in response. Eric accepts the invitation and touches the tip of his tongue to Jack’s, pulls back, breathes, then tastes more deeply, trading peach for peach. Jack welcomes him in, matches him move for move, tangles their tongues together, rubbing his thumbs over Eric’s hips as Eric sends one hand wandering again, through Jack’s hair, across his back, up and down his shoulder and bicep, and across his throat as his other hand on Jack’s face keeps him firmly anchored.

Jack feels taken, claimed, cherished.

This does not feel like a hook-up. This feels like coming home.

They kiss and kiss and kiss until Jack’s neck hurts from the strain but even then he can’t bring himself to pull away. Eric finally eases back, keeping one hand on Jack’s head but rolling his shoulders, and shifting muscles that are probably sore from bending over for so long. Jack drops his neck, tilting it to one side and then the other to ease the tightness, enjoying the way the movement makes Eric’s hand slide back and forth through his hair. When Eric tugs on his hair a little he tugs on Eric’s hips in response, brings him closer, leans in, rests his forehead on Eric’s chest.

“Eric… this… you… I needed… so much... is there anything I can do for you, in return?”

Eric wraps his arms around Jack’s shoulders and presses a kiss to the top of Jack’s head. “I feel…. I feel like you see me, Jack. Really see me, not my stage presence or public persona or reputation or the work I do. No acts, not outside ideas. Just me.”

Jack slips just the tips of his fingers inside the hem of Eric’s shirt. “Then, may I…. see more of you?”

He feels as well as hears Eric’s delighted laugh as he stretches his arms up. “Oooh, you charmer. Very smooth. Yes, Jack, yes.”

He slides his hands up Eric’s sides, feeling the fabric bunch and gather, then up over his head where Jack stops, hands on his elbows, shirt still wrapped around Eric’s forearms, awestruck by his beauty, all lean muscle, smooth definition, soft skin. “ _Mon dieu,_ Eric, you look like a dancer.”

When Eric blushes, Jack tracks how far down his chest it goes. “And just what is that supposed to mean, mister?”

“It means that I had a, euh, sexual awakening at the age of 14, thanks to an old video of  _The Nutcracker_  that my Maman insisted I watch with her.”

“Let me guess… Baryshnikov?”

Now it’s Jack’s turn to blush. “You, too, eh?”

“I’ll have you know I did ballet for a number of years when I was younger. I keep meaning to go back to it. Does wonders for your flexibility.”

Jack shivers a little at the mental image. “I bet.”

“You should take a class sometime. It’s a great way for you muscle-bound types to improve your coordination and strengthen the joints you rely on to carry around all that power.”

“I will if you will.”

“It’s a deal.”

Jack laughs a little because it’s ridiculous, the thought of them egging each other on to take dance classes, the idea that two strangers passing through would keep in touch, and about each other’s extracurricular activities, no less. But it feels true somehow, as well, and he thinks about that as he slowly moves his gaze over Eric’s upper body, not even realizing until Eric flexes his biceps and shoulders that he still has Eric’s arms lifted over his head, trapped in his shirt. He quickly pulls it the rest of the way off before muttering an apology, forehead again pressed to Eric’s chest as bare arms wrap around his shoulders and he brings his hands up to press lightly into Eric’s sides. Eric smells a little bit like peaches still, but there’s hints of vanilla and cinnamon in there, too, and something indefinably, undeniably masculine. Jack  _wants_.

He pulls back a little to nuzzle him lightly then a little more to look Eric in the eye. “May I?”

“Yes, Jack.”

“What…. what’s okay? What do you like?”

“Anything, honey. Go on. Explore.”

“ _Anything?_ ”

“Oops, sorry. Actually… marks are only okay from my armpits to mid-thigh. Gotta look respectable tomorrow.”

Jack shivers a little at the implications. Eric is  _giving permission_  for Jack to mark him and his pants are still on which means he’s thinking about Jack going even lower, later, with less clothes. And that those restrictions are only because of appearances and not because Eric doesn’t want it. He forces himself to match honesty for honesty.

“Anything hidden under a shirt or lower, for me. And, euh… don’t break the skin. Vampires don’t really do it for me, eh?”

“Lord, yes, same here. No breath or blood play. Nothing that feels like a submission hold or like I’m trapped.”

“I can respect that. Although if you want to tackle me or pin me down, feel free, eh?”

“You are a  _menace_ , mister. I’ll keep that in mind. Anything else?”

“Just… tell me what you like, if I get it wrong or right.”

“The feedback thing you mentioned, huh?”

“I… yes. No hiding or faking. Honesty, like we said. If it’s not too much to ask.”

“Oh, sugar, not at all. I’ll let you know if I’m happy with you, promise. And there’ll be pouting like you’re trying to pull teeth if you do something I don’t like, you hear?”

Jack chuckles and slides a hand up and around to Eric’s back. He draws him in gently, so close he’s standing in-between his legs, Jack’s inner thighs brushing just above Eric’s knees. Jack laps delicately at one peach-pink nipple. Eric gasps and clutches at his shoulders so he does it again. He sets one hand to wandering, mapping out the line and definition of each muscle- pectoral to deltoid, down to bicep and tricep, across to abdominals while the other strokes up and down from trapezius to latissimus dorsi along Eric’s back. His hands are full of Eric and he opens his lips, presses wetly into Eric’s skin so his mouth can be full, too. He sucks lightly, swirls his tongue, pulls back to blow on the wet spot, then sucks and swirls again. He traces his tongue along the underside of one smooth pectoral, across his sternum and over to the other, before going up and over to give the other nipple the same treatment again and again and again. And Eric is either a talker or taking his promise of feedback seriously, because he gasps and says Jack’s name and, “yes, there, oh yes, nice, so good, Jack” again and again and again, too. His fingers press into Jack's shoulders, sometimes clenching or trembling in response to a new sensation.

He pulls back to ask one more time, “Marks still okay?”

“Jesus, Jack,  _yes_. I want to see them tomorrow and the day after, too. Give me proof that this wasn’t just a dream.”

He chuckles, “Well, if you’re sure…..”

“Do it, Jack, now.”

“Yes, sir.” He teasingly licks a boundary line from one armpit to the other, then moves deliberately down and over before latching onto the smooth skin over Eric’s heart and sucking hard. Eric pants and cradles Jack’s head against him so he stays put, licks and sucks and nibbles while he clings to Eric’s sides and tightens his thighs around Eric’s legs. When Eric eases his grip, he begins to explore again, framing Eric’s left nipple with an arch of red marks and etching out a matching curve underneath the right one. When there isn’t a dry patch of skin left on Eric’s chest, he ducks his head farther down to chase the tempting plane of Eric’s abs.

He can’t quite reach, though, so he eases Eric’s body a step back and slides off the chair, onto his knees, keeping his thighs perpendicular to the floor so he’s just the right height. Eric gasps in surprise but doesn’t protest, just keeps running his fingers through Jack’s hair and over his shoulders. Eric doesn’t have the ridged outline of a 6-pack, but Jack doesn’t care, he’s never been much for bulk and heaps of muscles. Eric’s stomach is smooth and firm and flat and just perfect so Jack nips at the skin, gently grazing his teeth across its expanse in a mindless pattern.

“Jesus, Jack…..”

He pulls back immediately, tilting his head to look Eric in the eyes. “Still okay?”

“Yes, Jack, yes.” Eric’s hands stroke over him and he cups Jack’s face and bends way over to give him a kiss. “Just the sight of you on your knees…. Lord.”

Jack looks deep into Eric’s gorgeous brown eyes and decides once again to be brave. He traces Eric’s waistband with his fingers, licks his lips, and offers, “I… I can do more. Here. Like this. If… if you want. Want me. I want- would love- I miss- it’s been so long but I still fantasize about- I like- I-” He stutters to a stop but can’t look away, Eric is still holding his cheeks, so he breathes shakily and lets it all show on his face, the longing and the naked want, the loneliness and desperation, desire and affection and pleading and everything else.

Eric’s eyes roam slowly over him and Jack feels utterly naked under his gaze. Finally, Eric murmurs, “You’re doing so good, Jack. So good for me. Tell me what you want with your words. Please.”

He can do this. He can be brave. He can ask for what he wants.

One breath turns into two, then three, before he responds quietly, “May…. May I go down on you, Eric? Please?”

“Yes, Jack, of course. I want that, too.” He strokes Jack’s face, traces his lips with gentle fingertips. “It’s been awhile for you, huh?”

Jack groans and drops his gaze. “Literally years, for me.”

“Oh, you poor thing. And I thought this 6-month dry spell I’m in was bad. Just how long, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He clenches his eyes tight in embarrassment. “Two years, since I’ve been with a woman. With a man… freshman year in college. I’m not- not good at trusting. Taking risks.”

“Don’t get approached much, either?”

“Oh, no, yes, I do. I just- they want- it’s always so physical. I don’t- I can’t handle aggressive, like that, and when someone comes on to me in a bar or after work, I feel like I’m not… a person… to them. Just a body. Meat. I can’t- I need a connection.”

Eric leans down to give him another kiss. "And this?"

His cheeks are burning so hard it's painful but Jack grins anyway. "So connected I can see myself on your skin."

Eric laughs and looks down at himself. "This'll be a sight when I finally see a mirror, huh?"

"Might take longer than a day or two to fade, too."

Eric lets go of him and straightens up, looking off to one side as if deciding something. Jack sits back on his heels and looks up at him, waiting quietly. Finally, Eric shakes his head and looks down at him. "I'm guessing you don't have any protection with you?"

Jack buries his face against Eric's leg, nose pushing painfully against the denim. This is it, it’s over, neither planned for this and now they’re not prepared, Jack would never have  _dreamed_  of bringing condoms to a bar, or keeping some in his vehicle and safety first and-

“Hey, hey, sweetheart, no need to be embarrassed. It’s just-”, Eric groans. “Now I’m going to have to ask Larissa if I can borrow some condoms.”

“I thought I was the only one who wasn’t ready.”

“No, sugar, not just you. My job is so… so  _on_ , loud and full of enthusiasm and I guess you’d say presence and all the people that when I’m done I usually just want to curl up in my pjs and watch baking shows.”

“And tonight?”

“I wanted to clear my head, get out of my own thoughts for a while. Like you said, hotel rooms can just be so darn quiet sometimes. So… confining.”

No, Jack hadn’t said that. It was his own condo that was too empty and impersonal and silent too much of the time.

He’d bet anything that Eric’s place looked homey and lived-in with a big kitchen and comfy furniture that welcomed in close friends and loved ones and no one ever wanted to leave.

He takes a deep breath and extracts his face from Eric’s jeans.

 Eric gently pulls away and walks over to the adjoining door, pulling it open slightly and speaking quietly through the crack. Jack decides to be responsible, too.

-Going to use protection. Following usual pre-game restrictions. Don’t wait up. My alarm’s set for tomorrow morning and I’ll text you then.

He thinks the burst of emojis and exclamation points he gets back are a good thing. He hears the adjoining door click shut again, then lock, and when Eric stands before him again, shy smile on his face, lube in one hand, and condoms in another, the ring of light from the desk lamp briefly catches around the edges of his head and lights up the strands of his hair like a halo.

Jack hurriedly taps out one last text.

-I think he might be an angel.

He tosses his phone onto the desk and smiles up at Eric. It feels so natural, so right, to be on his knees before this beautiful man. He reaches out and molds his hands to the bulge of Eric’s quadriceps that he can see pressing against his jeans, just above the knee. Then slides his hands up and up over the firm, thick muscle until his fingertips reach belt loops, carefully curls his fingers into Eric’s front pockets and tugs him forward. The zipper is just inches from his mouth now and Jack wants this so badly his mouth is watering. He slides his fingers out and reaches towards Eric’s hips, looking up for a reaction. “Okay?”

“Yes, sweetpea. More than okay.”

He tries not to shiver at the endearment that feels somehow even more intimate than  _honey_  or  _sugar_. Or maybe it’s the low tone in Eric’s voice, the way his eyes are blazing down at him, patient but eager. He traces the outer seam of Eric’s pants with his fingertips from hips to knees and feels a slight shiver, then cups the back of Eric’s knees in his hands and slides up, up, over the firm, defined hamstrings, the sudden dip above them, then finally, finally, Jack is holding that gorgeous, tight ass in his hands, a perfect fit. They moan together, and Jack’s fingers dig in slightly as he squeezes and lets out a shuddery breath. He feels one hand stroke softly through his hair and he drops his forehead to the cold metal of Eric’s button.

He stays there for a long minute, just stroking and kneading, before pulling back and sliding his hands to Eric’s pockets once again. Eric’s hand is on his face now as he looks up and sees that gorgeous grin shining down on him. “Still okay?”

“Yes, Jack.” He fights not to shiver. Eric is being so patient, saying  _yes_  again and again without the slightest hint of annoyance. Does he realize how nervous Jack is, after being celibate for so long? Does Eric realize what hearing  _yes Jack_  in that tone does to him, the way it goes straight to his cock and makes him throb? Eric’s thumb traces Jack’s bottom lip and he thinks the answer to that last question may very well be  _yes_.

Jack keeps staring up at Eric as he carefully thumbs open the button and fumbles the zipper down. He brings his hands back up to trace the backs of his fingers over Eric’s stomach then down into his waistband, tugging until the jut of his hipbones are revealed. Jack leans in to kiss first one then the other before looking up again. “How… how naked do you want to be?”

Eric smirks a little and licks his lips. “How naked do you want me, sugar?”

Jack can only breathe out,  _“Eric…”_ , as he gives another tug. A patch of dark blonde curls is revealed but the waistband of Eric’s blue briefs snag on the base of his cock, straining out against the fabric. Jack is so eager, wants to strip him completely, but he can’t resist slipping his hands inside the silky-soft cloth and filling them with that lush, perfect ass. He breathes out again deliberately, hot over the head of Eric’s cock, not quite touching with his lips, thrilling at the way Eric trembles a little in his hands and moans back,  _“Jack….”_

 _Crisse_ , it’s good, so good, too good. How can he possibly last? He coaxes the snug jeans down to Eric’s knees, then carefully pulls the elastic of the briefs out and over his erection before sliding those down, too. The half-nakedness makes him feel rushed, somehow, so he takes them all the way down and Eric braces a hand on his shoulder as he shifts from one foot to another while Jack guides his feet free.

Eric fully dressed is a marvel. Naked, he’s a wonder to behold. Jack sits back on his heels and just looks for a minute, taking in the tousled hair, the flush going from cheeks to chest, the marks Jack so carefully applied to his skin, the thick thighs, the well-defined calves with silky golden hair, and finally the gorgeous cock, cut but still beautiful, with a slight curve upwards that seems made to nestle into the roof of Jack’s mouth.

Jack has to tear his eyes away to accept the condom Eric’s offering him and rip it open. Eric wraps thumb and forefinger around the base of his dick to hold it steady while Jack pinches the tip of the condom and slowly rolls it on. He tries not to think about how Larissa knew which size to hand him. He steadies himself with one hand on Eric’s hip and replaces Eric’s hand on his cock with the other. It twitches eagerly in his grip and he squeezes a promise in return. Eric’s stroking his hair again and Jack’s eyes flutter a little as he forces himself to ask one last time, “Still yes?”

“Yes, Jack, yes.”

He laps tentatively at the head, steeling himself not to flinch at the clinical taste of latex and is shocked to find that it’s not as bad as he remembers. He slides his lips carefully over the head and tongues the underside again just to be sure. Have condoms improved that much over the past few years or were the free ones handed out by the trainers in juniors just that bad?

Maybe he's just that desperate.

He tightens his lips and bobs back and forth to test the feel, thickness, texture. The taste is still not great, of course, but the material is thin, almost friction-less without feeling oily, and acts as no barrier to the heat of Eric’s skin or the throb of his pulse. He bobs again to make sure, then pulls back and smiles. Good. He can do this.

 _“Jesus_ , Jack,” Eric moans, fingers twitching in Jack’s hair as if fighting not to force him back on. “More. Please. More.”

“As you wish,” Jack murmurs and slides Eric deep into his mouth. He hums in acquiescence when Eric’s fingers tighten in his hair then again when Eric moans in response. He slowly takes Eric in as far as he can go, limited more by Eric’s thickness than by his length, and begins to suck as he pulls back out.

 _“Ohhhhhh,_  Jack-”

Tongues the underside again.

“oh, oh,  _Jack-_ ”

Slides back down with tight suction.

“that’s so-  _ungh_ \- so good-”

Moans with the head of Eric’s cock rubbing the roof of his mouth.

“ohhhh so good, you feel so good-”

Lips tight as he bobs back and forth.

“your mouth, so hot-”

Opens wide with just the tip lying on his tongue to look up at Eric through dark lashes.

“Oh, why, don’t- please- don’t stop, oh-”

Looks at face flushed, lips bitten red, trickle of sweat on chest as he laps, open-mouthed.

“Lord, your  _face_ , oh sugar, so gorgeous-”

Closes his lips and eyes as he moans again.

“yes, please, Jack, please, more  _more_ -”

Takes him in deep, Eric’s voice filling his ears.

“ohhhhh  _Jack_ \- yes- oh- so- please-”

Fingers in his hair, clenching tight, lighting his nerves.

“Jack- more- please- yes- oh- more- Jack-”

Scent of sweat and arousal, filling him deep.

“So close- Jack- sweetheart- oh-  _please_ -”

Taste he wants so bad, so close, tries to lick through the barrier.

“Ohhhhh Jack oh Jack  _ohhhh Jaaack_ -”

Hopeless. He sucks, squeezes hard, feels the throbbing against one palm, hip trembling in the other.

“Jack, please honey, please sugar, please sweetpea, let me  _come_ -”

He’s forgotten what a condom-sealed ejaculation feels like in his mouth. He doesn’t care.

“oh please oh please oh yes oh please oh Jack-”

Holds the head in his mouth, sucks harder, harder. Strokes back and forth with his hand tight, faster, faster.

“Oh yes Oh  _Yes_  Oh YES Ohhhhh Yes  _OH_   Jack  _SO_  good So Jack  _Ohhhhhhhhhhh_ YES JACK SO GOOD  _Ohhhhhhhh_ -”

Sweaty fingers pull him off as they pant through the aftershocks together, eyes locked.

Slowly, Jack comes back to himself. Knees beginning to ache, throat dry, latex aftertaste, cock pulsing with frustration, chafing against his fly. He groans suddenly and drops his forehead against a smooth thigh.

“I- I wanted you to fuck me.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, why is he expressing  _regret_ , why now, when that was so perfect. He can’t bottom, he has a  _game_  tomorrow, and he’s so hard it hurts, and-

Eric laughs softly. “Sorry, sweetheart, not after the way you drained me so good. I’m going to need a good night’s sleep after that one.”

“No- I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful- it’s just been- so long- and-”

“And you’ve been very patient, waiting for your turn all this time. I’m ‘fraid all that noise I made got me too hoarse to return the favor but is there anything my hands or the rest of me can do for you?”

Jack reluctantly releases him and sits back on his heels, shifting his weight side to side to release sore muscles as Eric quietly disposes of the condom, starts more tea, and wipes himself off with a towel.

Jack accepts the bottle of water he offers and chugs it gratefully. Finally, he clears his throat and forces out, “Touch me?”

Eric smiles as he fills a large mug and a thick, herbal scent starts to fill the air. “Strip for me?”

“Oh- euh- I-” Despite the tightness of his jeans, Jack had barely realized he was still clothed, they had felt so joined, so deeply connected, and Eric is so very naked standing in front of him.

He climbs awkwardly to his feet and immediately steps back, still worried about looming over Eric. He looks so blonde and beautiful and vulnerable with his skin all marked up from Jack’s lips, his body thoroughly sexed. He almost startles when the bed hits his legs then hurriedly rips off his shirt and fumbles with his jeans.

“ _Jesus_ , Jack, I know I said muscle-bound but  _damn._ ”

“You don’t- too much-?”

“Now, sugar, did I say that?” Eric’s smirk is both thirsty and satisfied and Jack wishes he could capture that look forever. He yanks down his pants and frantically kicks off his boxers and yes, more of that expression, yes, please.

He barely has a moment to register that he’s naked, alone, with a stranger, in a hotel room, he’s the only one hard, achingly so, and Eric is spinning one finger in the air and murmuring, “Twirl for me?”

“I’m not the one who’s done ballet.”

But he turns obediently, feeling Eric examine him from all angles and keeps turning as that slender finger commands until he’s facing the bed for the third time and Eric says, “Freeze.”

Jack hears soft footfalls pad across the room and eyes Eric as he sets his tea down on a nightstand, then walks behind him again. “Do you really like being tackled, Jack?”

“Yes. If it’s someone I trust. Someone I know won’t hurt me. Won’t use their strength the wrong way.”

Eric’s voice is very quiet and very close. He imagines he can feel Eric's breath on his back. “Do you trust me, Jack?”

Jack knows all the reasons, knows all the logic, knows all the danger. How well could he possibly know this stranger? 

 _I_ _know how he feels falling apart on my tongue_.

He shivers a little and answers back, just as quiet, “Yes, Eric.”

A long pause, footsteps backing up, then fast, and his breath is knocked out of him with an,  _“oomph!”_  as the shock of skin-to-skin contact races throughout his entire body and he impacts face first into the mattress, Eric a warm weight spread out on top of him.

There’s a soft blanket underneath him and for a moment he grinds against it, trapped deliciously between the firm mattress and Eric’s solid body. Every inch where their bare skin is touching lights sparks throughout his body, racing to fingertips and toes then shooting up to his dick but somehow the contact is steadying, too, reassuring and comforting.

_I’m on fire. I feel safe._

Jack doesn’t understand, and he doesn’t care to, either.

Eric slides up Jack’s body to kiss the back of his neck and he feels Eric’s soft cock drag over his ass and nestle into the small of his back. Jack groans.

When was the last time he was pounded face first into the mattress? Did he feel as sizzling and alive as he does now?

He silently curses the late hour and his upcoming game as Eric traces the shell of his ear with his tongue.

“What can I do for you, honey?”

He moans. “Touch me.”

“Where?”

_“Everywhere.”_

“Like this?” Eric’s voice is light and teasing as he pulls himself upright and starts to knead Jack’s shoulders and biceps.

Jack grunts with frustration but doesn’t complain. Eric doesn’t have the clinical preciseness of a professional, but he darn well knows all the major pressure points and is hitting them with a high degree of accuracy. He wants more, _needs_ it, but the squeezing and the stroking feel incredible and Jack is so, so touch-starved. He finds himself mumbling, “more, more” into the pillow.

“Alright, sweetpea, I’ll only tease a little.”

Eric is smiling as he works his way slowly but surely down Jack’s body, Jack can hear it in his voice.

Little murmurs of, “So good, so strong, you must work so hard, Jack, I love touching your body, it feels so nice, so warm in my hands.”

Jack can’t talk but he moans and hums and wiggles against those strong, capable fingers, cock throbbing as he tries to find some relief against the too-soft cloth beneath him. When Eric’s hands reach his lower back, he rubs his hips firmly over Jack’s ass as he slides down to straddle his thighs. Jack gasps as he feels Eric’s dick drag over his ass again, teasing over his crack and nudging at his balls before pulling back to rest against his legs.

He finally gains the breath to mutter, “This is what you call a _little_ teasing?”

“What? I’m not even big, am I?” Eric snickers at his own dick joke, then trails his fingers lightly over the top of Jack’s ass. “This okay, sweetheart?”

 _Words_ , Jack reminds himself.

 _English_ words.

He liked Eric’s affirmations so much, it’s not fair to get impatient just because he’s aching and it’s late and he feels like he’s going to explode if he doesn’t orgasm soon. “Yes, Eric. Please. More. Everywhere, Eric, please.”

“Say it, Jack.”

“Please rub me. Please rub my ass. Please stroke it and squeeze it and smack it and dig your fingers in.”

“Smacking, huh?” Eric lightly palms one cheek. “Don’t think we have time to get that kinky tonight. Don’t think you have the patience for it, either.”

Jack shakes his head into the pillow and tries to arch his ass up into Eric’s grip, but he’s trapped by the solid weight on his legs, the strong squeeze of Eric’s thighs around his. It feels so good.

It feels better when Eric presses in with both hands, alternating kneading and caressing, whispering filthy things about what he’d do if he had more time and wasn’t spent already, what he’d do if he had a whole afternoon to dedicate to making Jack feel good back and front and he’s putting his whole weight into his hands, pressing his fingers in deep and rubbing Jack into the mattress.

Jack groans and grinds his hips in response, unable to decide between pressing up into those clever hands or down into the mattress against his dick. Eric laughs softly and asks, “Too much, sugar? Or not enough?”

“More. Need more. I’m so hard. So close. Need you. Want you. Please, Eric. This is… torture.”

“As you wish.” Eric’s fingers skate up his back, his body shifts, there’s a long lap of a wet tongue up his spine, and then suddenly Eric’s weight is gone, and Jack is being flipped back to front so fast that his dick _thwaps_ against his own thigh. Jack gasps in surprise, at the sudden re-orientation, at the shock of cool air across his body, at Eric’s strength.

He aches at the loss of contact for half a second before Eric is pressing up against his side, draping himself half across Jack’s body, a leg sliding between Jack’s thighs as hands cup his face.

Jack stares helplessly up at Eric. It’s been 5 whole minutes since he’s seen him and already he’s forgotten just how beautiful Eric is, eyes so dark and gorgeous he could drown in them, delicate eyelashes, flushed cheeks, and bitten lips. He tilts his head up, parts his lips, and Eric devours his mouth, plunging his tongue in again and again, claiming every inch.

Jack moans and reaches for him in return, one hand sliding into silky blonde hair, the other around Eric’s smoothly muscled back as he realizes suddenly that they haven’t kissed since Jack was nibbling at Eric’s abs what seems like a lifetime ago. “More,” he pants as Eric comes up for air. “More, more.”

He doesn’t know if he’s begging for release or torture or kisses.

He doesn’t care.

It doesn’t matter because Eric murmurs, “I’ve got you, Jack honey,” and slides a hand down his body. Jack thinks dimly that Eric must be massively coordinated because he traces Jack’s lips with his tongue at the exact same pressure and speed that his fingers use when they finally, finally trail around the head of Jack’s cock.

Jack tries to arch up, press into those teasing touches with lips and hips but he can’t, Eric’s hold on his chin and leg are too firm. He trembles instead, feeling utterly, startlingly helpless. Eric’s fingers are _magic_ , unusual calluses dragging lightly over his skin as Eric explores every inch. He pants, “Are… are you going to make me beg, Eric?”

Eric wraps his hand firmly around Jack’s dick as he smiles and murmurs, “No, sugar. I’m going to make you come.”

Jack groans loudly with relief because _finally_ , here’s something he knows. A sure grip, the pressure he needs. He wishes he could enjoy this more but he’s too close, it’s been too long.

His orgasms have been so quick and perfunctory lately, he’s forgotten what it’s like to be built up and up and up, to be throbbing with the need for release and waiting on someone else’s whim to have it.

He’s too far gone to suggest grabbing the lube but Eric doesn’t need it, knows exactly how to squeeze around him and work his foreskin up and down his shaft. Jack wonders what lucky, uncut boyfriend in Eric’s past had the privilege of teaching him that.

He moans when he tries to speak, Eric’s face so gorgeous and overwhelming above him that he can’t bear it, so Jack tugs him down to his lips and moans into his mouth instead, eyes slipping shut. He’s sure Eric would speak if he could, he’s humming what sounds like encouragement and praise right back and Jack aches to hear his sexy, tender words but he can’t bear to let go, he just can’t, so he kisses him again and again and again, lapping at lips and tongue and beauty.

He cries out into Eric’s mouth as his orgasm hits, feeling Eric aim him upward so he splashes over his own chest and stomach again and again as strong, clever fingers milk out every drop. Jack keeps their mouths clasped tight together until the waves finally subside and he eases back to pant against Eric’s lips. He feels exhausted, but also hyper-aware, acutely sensitive to every touch of their bodies- the strong thigh still rubbing high over one leg- the cock, still soft but feeling fuller, pressed against his hip- the abs against his side- the chest barely brushing his- a gentle hand now stroking his cheek.

 _“Lord_ , Jack,” Eric sighs at last. His free hand has conjured up a hand towel out of nowhere but hovers inches from his skin. “I know I should clean you up, but you just look so gosh darn gorgeous like this.”

Jack blinks slowly down at himself and the quickly cooling mess spattered over his body. “I…. I don’t know the last time I came that hard.”

“Me, neither, sweetpea. If I didn’t have a big presentation tomorrow, I’d kiss your pretty face until you were begging to have me inside you.”

“I thought you said you weren’t going to make me beg?”

“Oh, ha ha, Mr. High-and-Mighty. Until we were both sufficiently recovered, and you asked very nicely then. With your words.”

Jack grins sleepily up at him as Eric begins to carefully wipe at his skin. A stray thought occurs to him and he frowns suddenly. “Will… this cause problems for you? Tomorrow, at work? Staying up late and all that?”

Eric’s hand stills for a long moment before he continues, saying quietly, “I don’t know. I’ll adjust my alarms for the morning, so I get the same amount of sleep, but… my voice. I’m feeling a bit raspy. I was supposed to be resting it tonight so I’d be in fine shape tomorrow.”

Jack thinks guiltily of the low moans that are going to haunt his dreams for years to come. “Oh. Oh no. I’m… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to… didn’t know….”

Eric throws his head back and laughs. “No, Jack, don’t apologize! Lord, you’re so Canadian, my mama would have a field day with your sweet manners. No, sugar, no. You didn’t know, and the responsibility was on me to take care of myself. I just… I never dreamed that one little blowjob would have me moaning out of my mind. I’ve got me some nice throat tea right here and once I’m done cleaning you, we can snuggle up while I drink it. That is…. If you’re…. if you want to stay?”

Jack thinks it over for a long minute as Eric rubs the soft towel over his thighs and balls then tosses it on the floor and sits upright, reaching for the mug on his nightstand.

He has a game tomorrow… but it’d be so hard going home this late… the trip would probably wake him up all over again… and this mattress feels so very good and he is so very tired. When was the last time he really slept with someone, not just came and left?

He can’t remember.

At last he says, “Can you hand me my phone?”

Thankfully his pants are within arm’s reach of the bed. He’s astonished to find that it’s just barely his usual bedtime. He’d gone to the bar so early and met Eric so soon after eating that he wasn’t even up late. Still, he carefully re-sets his alarms for an hour later to compensate for the…. extra exertion… and mentally adjusts his schedule.

His morning run will be much lighter and shorter than he originally planned.

He flicks quickly through Shitty’s exuberantly delighted but slightly worried texts than taps out a good-night.

-About to sleep now. I won’t text too early tomorrow. Going to try for some extra rest.

He hesitates for a second then sends a follow-up.

-He’s definitely an angel.

He switches his phone to power saving mode, tosses it onto the other nightstand, then snuggles up to Eric’s side. Easy as anything, Eric wraps an arm around him and Jack finds himself with his head on Eric’s chest, longer fingers stroking through his hair as Eric quietly drinks his tea. The silence stretches for several long, peaceful minutes until Jack says quietly, “Do you snore?”

Eric huffs in amusement and presses a kiss to the top of Jack’s head. “No, sugar, I don’t snore. You?”

“My, ah…. co-worker that I room with on, eh, business trips says I don’t and I’m usually asleep before him.”

Another kiss. “Well, then.”

A few minutes later. “What type of tea did you say that was? I’ve never smelled anything like it.”

“Throat Coat. Want a sip?”

Stranger, strange substances, unknown herbs…

“Sure.”

Eric brings the mug to his lips and their fingers touch as he carefully tilts some into his mouth. Warmth rushes through him and he swallows carefully. It feels unusually thick for something made from a teabag and with no honey or anything else added. The taste is odd but pleasant without being sweet. “What do you think?”

“I could definitely feel it going down. I see why it has that name. And it feels…. slippery, almost? But not in an oily way.”

“Mmm, very observant. Primary ingredients are licorice root and slippery elm bark. I always drink some before having to deal with a microphone but I pack extra in case of… exertion.”

Jack snorts a laugh as Eric yawns out the last word. He rubs his cheek against Eric’s chest and twists his fingers together nervously for a minute then whispers softly, “Please let me stay?”

He feels Eric take one last swallow then reach out to set down the mug before wrapping both arms tight around him. “Oh, sugar, all you had to do was ask.”

“Thank you, Eric. This was…. you were… I’m so…. thank you.” Sleep is creeping up to claim him, slipping in the edges of his vision. Eric coaxes him down next to him on the bed, taps away at his own phone, flicks off the lamp, and then is there, facing him, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips and forehead and running a soothing hand over his back one last time.

“Sleep, sweetpea. I’ll be here in the morning.”

And Jack does.

And Eric is. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'ed so useful feedback is always appreciated! I see my fics in my head as an extremely lush and detailed movie that I'm just trying to describe for the readers which means it's super hard to reign myself in the sake of brevity or quicker reading/writing.
> 
> Baryshnikov Nutcracker 1977 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LSerfyejJNk  
> His package reigned supreme until David Bowie’s Goblin King came out in 1986 (also, Nutcracker had more tightly dressed butt shots than Labyrinth).
> 
> Jack and Bitty don't verbalize it, but they're practicing IF SOE consent.  
> IF SOE acronym= "Informed, Freely-given, Specific, Ongoing, Enthusiastic."  
> "IF SOE, then it's a go." More info at http://folioweekly.com/stories/defining-yes-to-s-e-x,19643 (yes, the comma and extra numbers have to be there for the URL to work) and Coalition for Consent at https://www.facebook.com/cfcduval/
> 
> Throat Coat is real and amazing and not for everyone. Let's call it an acquired taste. https://www.amazon.com/Traditional-Medicinals-Organic-Throat-Coat/dp/B000SR62ZC
> 
> I'm not sure my favorite recipe for Chocolate, Peanut Butter, Oatmeal, No-Bake Cookies (my preferred ratio depends on mood) but they absolutely don't work in the humidity and I swear I'm going to figure out a healthier, more protein/granola bar-like version one day. And yes, some heathens do insist on calling them Cow Plops.
> 
> Yes, Jack and Eric are super cautious and careful but safe sex is important, especially between strangers! It's not just for big NHL stars who are hyper-anxious about taking care of their bodies or creating a scandal.  
> https://psmag.com/social-justice/why-dont-we-wear-condoms-for-oral-sex-60632  
> https://www.salon.com/2012/08/19/how_risky_is_oral_sex/
> 
> I know it could just be a stylistic thing, but Bitty has some big-a** hands in the comic so I have zero plans to write a fic where he has tiny hands or small fingers, especially if he's playing any sort of hockey. Slender, sure. Delicate touch, great. But always good-sized and always strong. http://checkpleasecomic.com/extras-blog/257


	3. Anthems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack wakes up in Eric's arms. 
> 
> He eventually has to head out and play hockey, but not before meeting the mysterious Larissa and being extremely awkward.
> 
> Unfortunately for his famous 110% focus, something happens before the puck even drops...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are multiple erections but no orgasms in this chapter. Yes, I'm sad about this, too.
> 
> A very minor caution (not even sure if it's necessary) for Jack's anxiety, being closeted, extremely mild dom/sub overtones (Jack just loves it when someone knows what they're doing), mild dysphoria on Jack's part about his body's size and appearance and fear of hurting others, and casual inclusion of normal bodily functions. 
> 
> A major caution for including the U.S. anthem before the game. The comic and Bitty's Twitter never say who won the 2016 election- when Bitty tweeted about it, it was before November and he never even named the candidates. So let's just take a deep breath and agree that in the OMGCP universe (or at least this AU) there's a POTUS that's highly qualified and has never done anything to make any vulnerable individual feel less welcome or unsafe, okay?
> 
> Q: Should I go into every detail of Jack's day or do a quick summary of Jack and Eric's morning then skip ahead to some plot?  
> A: Get ready for some delightful teeth-brushing!

There’s a word nagging at the edge of Jack’s mind and chasing it brings him to wakefulness.

It’s the name for how he’s feeling right now.

It keeps eluding him.

He doesn’t know what to do if he doesn’t know what’s going on and that includes his emotional state.

Jack blearily cracks his eyes open and evaluates the situation.

His head is on a very good pillow and there’s an arm tucked just so between his chin and collarbone. He can feel the heat shadow of a shoulder behind him and a hint of breath gusting over his head. A warm body is pressed against his back and another arm is under his, wrapped lightly around his chest, and… their fingers are intertwined. A nicely solid thigh is draped over his hips. An extra amount of heat and pressure is nudging into his back and while Jack would really prefer that sensation against his ass, he is absolutely not complaining.

It feels incredible to be entirely enveloped by somebody who wants him.

 _Decadence_.

Yes. That was the word.

Being warm. Being cuddled. Being desired. Decadent.

His bladder suddenly, viciously disagrees.

Jack makes an inadvertent noise of protest and tries to burrow back into the warm body behind him and away from reality. It doesn’t work, and an answering noise makes him realize the rudeness of his squirming.

“Sorry,” he mumbles through dry lips.

A long yawn whispers through his hair. “Ain’t no sorry, sugar,” comes the mumble back.

Jack grins at the heavy, thick accent and wonders if his is just as bad right now. “Good morning,” he whispers, more clearly, and yep. Very French-Canadian sounding this morning.

He doesn’t know how to interpret the answering murmur but the shift of skin, followed by a tongue lapping slowly at his neck, is clear enough.  _Crisse_ , he wants to wake up like this every day. He moans, arching his head back, and slender fingers slip out of his to start playing with his nipple instead. He moans again, this time in discomfort. He really,  _really_  has to go.

“Eric….,” he groans. “Wanna… but gotta…  _toilette_.”

A chuckle vibrates against his skin before pulling away and he wants to shiver at the loss but he’s up and out of the bed, stumbling blindly towards the bathroom, and fumbling at the switch. The relief is so strong he almost vocalizes it, shaking his head at his sudden tendency towards non-verbal communication.

There’s a knock as he’s washing his hands and then Eric’s pushing through the door Jack forgot to shut all the way, giving him a sealed travel toothbrush and a kiss on the bicep as he moves behind him and reaches for a cup of water. “Oh God, thanks,” Jack says fervently. “I can’t kiss you with the breath I have now.” He sees Eric’s grin around the sides of his glass as he chuckles and drinks.

Jack has a mouthful of toothpaste when he realizes Eric is no longer next to him. He glances over to see him scrub sleepily at his eyes with one arm while the other lifts the toilet seat back up and takes himself in hand. Jack hurriedly looks back at the sink and keeps brushing methodically as he hears Eric start to piss.

He can’t…. is this really happening? Should he leave? Eric would have said something if he wanted privacy, right?

He waits for the anxiety of being stuck in an awkward situation to flare up, but nothing happens. He’s too sleepy and sated-feeling to react. He feels… comfortable.

He grins and glances over as Eric  _does_  make a sound of relief and he’s struck by the domesticity of it.

Is this what being married is like? Complete comfort around another person? Sleepily going through the motions of morning routines after waking up naked and intertwined?

He sneaks another peek. Eric is  _gorgeous_  in profile and the ass that’d felt so heavenly in his hands last night is equally stunning under the bathroom’s bright lights.

It’s not like Jack remembered to shut the door when he went. They’re as far apart as two urinals in a public bathroom, although the view is admittedly quite different. And it’s not like Jack is looking or anything.

He peeks again.

Eric catches him.

“Sorry!” he blurts out.

Or tries to.

It comes out as a gargle with white foam spilling out of his mouth, so he hurriedly spits out the toothpaste and tries again.  _“_ _Crisse,_  I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to- I promise it wasn’t- I don’t have a fetish- it’s just- you’re very beautiful- and I haven’t really been around someone naked like this for so long- I’d forgotten- I don’t know-”

Jack trails off as the raised eyebrow that had initially seemed quite judgmental now takes on a decidedly amused air. Or maybe it’s the grin twitching at the corner of Eric’s mouth. Jack turns back to the sink, staring determinedly at it while he wipes off his mouth and chin and rinses with a cup of water. Swish and spit and find a way to fix this.

He keeps not looking as he hears the toilet flushed, the seat lowered, and Eric’s body is pressed against his back again, a kiss brushing between his shoulder blades.

Does that mean his apology has been accepted?

Arms on either side of his waist reach towards the taps but even fully extended Eric’s hands bat uselessly at the empty air over the sink, hitting the end of the spigot but not much else. Jack chuckles despite himself, “Need a little help, eh?”

He gets nipped for that one.

“I see how it is,” he teases as he turns on the water and presses the bar of hotel soap into Eric’s palm, “Too much of a gentleman to flip me off but  _biting_  is fair game?”

Eric nips him again.

“I know, I did say it was okay. Meant it, too.”

A hum of agreement and the twin marks on his back are nicely kissed.

Jack hands him a towel. “Should I get out of your way?”

Eric grinds lightly against Jack’s ass and, oh, they are quite nicely lined up now. Eric presses into him again as he reaches towards the counter and snags the toothpaste and his own brush with startling accuracy while Jack fights to hold still.

It’d be so easy, to bend over this counter right here, to offer himself, to beg for what he’s been craving for so long. Beg for what Eric, to all appearances, seems interested in giving him.

But no. He has a game tonight.

Instead he marvels at how Eric’s fingers juggle toothbrush, toothpaste, and cap removal, then a halfway decent job of toothpaste application, re-capping and chucking the toothpaste back onto the counter before bringing the toothbrush back towards their bodies, hovering it inches from Jack’s belly button.

Jack smirks. “Sorry, am I in your way?”

Eric’s free hand tweaks first one nipple then the other for that one but oh, is it worth it. Both the punishment and the chance to chirp someone, nice and easy and silly like this. To feel someone’s laugh through their skin.

The hand travels downward to clasp Jack firmly at the waist as Eric pulls the toothbrush around and behind Jack and leans away from his back. His forearm and wrist bump against Jack as he begins to brush and Jack obligingly angles forward to give Eric more space.

Wait, no, Jack had just decided that he  _wasn’t_  going to bend over the counter, he has a game tonight, and here he is anyway, the change in position rubbing their hips even more firmly together, helped along by the restraint of Eric’s other arm and the way he’s deliciously trapped between the sink and Eric’s body.

He opens his mouth to say something, then gasps a little instead as he meets Eric’s gaze in the mirror. He’s bent over just enough that those beautiful brown eyes are peeking over his shoulder and they’re twinkling but also burning and Jack feels like he could drown in them.

He wonders what Eric is thinking as he looks at him, bent over and slack-jawed and still utterly naked. He licks his lips, determined to ask, but before he gets a word out, Eric turns them both 90 degrees to spit in the sink, rinse out his mouth, then rotates them back to run the brush and his hands under the water.

Jack shuts off the faucet when he’s done and leaps at the distraction. “I suppose you want the towel again, eh?”

Eric’s response is to flick the water from his hands all over Jack’s chest then wipe them on his abs. Jack yelps with shock and grabs the towel for himself, wiping his skin with one hand and trying to bat Eric’s dripping hands away with the other.

Victory only comes when Jack snags his wrists and dries Eric off himself then turns in his arms to face wash him with the towel. Eric sputters and laughs and grabs for it, but Jack holds the towel up and out of his reach, gripping Eric’s hip with one hand to stop him from jumping for it.

Their laughter fades away as they look at each other and something soft, almost vulnerable, steals across Eric’s face. Jack bends down to kiss it away but then stops at the last second, suddenly unsure.

“Can I?”, he asks softly, and Eric nods, tilts his head up, and parts his lips slightly as his eyes fall shut.

It’s their first kiss with Jack standing and the sudden awareness of their height difference sparks a surge of protectiveness in him.

Or maybe it’s the way Eric’s lips are so soft against his.

Or the way he clutches at Jack’s forearm when Jack drops the towel and cups his cheek.

Or the way he lets Jack lightly press him back against the wall and kiss him again and again.

Their kisses last night had been sweet and peachy in dim light, now they’re crisp and minty under bright fluorescents but the taste and feel of Eric is still intoxicating. He finally forces himself to step back and shake his head when Eric trails fingers down his back and over his ass.

“No,” he finally says. “I'm sorry. I want to kiss you and hold you and touch you and be with you until I have to go…. but I can’t go that far. I work tonight, and my job’s intense and if I come again… I’d be too relaxed, lose my edge.”

He sighs and pushes for full honesty. “And… it’s been so long, and with your size, no matter how gentle, I’m pretty sure I’ll be limping a bit afterwards. I don’t care if I’m sore getting on the plane tomorrow afternoon but today… can’t show any sign of- euh- weakness in front of the clients.”

Okay, maybe that wasn’t quite full honesty. But it was as close as he could get right now.

Eric considers him thoughtfully for a moment, then finally nods. He tips up to give Jack a small kiss then pulls back with a curious frown and yet another questioning eyebrow. Jack blushes. “I know, I wouldn’t have been able to take you last night either… but I wanted to. Want to. Still. So much. But for now… more kisses?”

Eric smiles brilliantly as Jack intertwines their fingers and tugs him back to the bed. They sit at the foot facing either other, heights nearly even again. Jack eyes him slowly from toes to nose, thrills at the way Eric is half-hard, then trails a careful hand from Eric’s knee to thigh, hip, abs, chest, neck, and finally his face again before ducking in to taste more of his sweetness and warmth. Jack shifts closer with every lap of their tongues until their thighs are pressed tight together. They keep their kisses slow and searching, both mindful of Jack’s limitations, probably Eric’s as well if he’s so worried about saving his voice that he’s not even speaking.

Jack doesn’t know how or when he realized that, but he’s pleased with himself for the observation, for realizing the reason for Eric’s silence without questions or worry that he was being rejected.

Jack can pay attention. Jack can notice and respond to someone else’s needs.

Jack had never thought of public speaking as a particularly physical task before, but he imagines doing it well must take strong lungs and good breath control. And if he thinks of the voice as a muscle that needs workouts and technique and training and rest in just the right measures…. Well. No matter.

Eric poured out his voice for Jack last night, and most memorably, too. Eric filled Jack’s ears with his pleasure, gave him all the feedback he desired and more, used his words to coax out Jack’s as well. It’s Jack’s turn to speak up and that’s perfectly alright with him. He just has to figure out what to say.

He gently breaks the kiss then ghosts his lips over Eric’s cheeks, nose, and forehead before finally managing to pull back. Jack rubs his thumb over Eric’s full lower lip before murmuring, “Eric… this, you… this is incredible. Being with you has been… is… I didn’t know it could be like this. I’ve been so scared, hiding for so long, it’s like I forgot who I was, what I could be. You make me feel like... like I could have a future, one day. With someone. Like this.” Words fail him, and he groans in frustration, dropping his head to Eric’s shoulder. “What I wouldn’t give to start every day like this.”

Jack hears Eric’s sharp, sudden intake of breath but still no words, just hands coming up to cradle his head, stroke through his hair, coax him upright again. Eric looks deeply into his eyes for a long moment then tugs him back in with both hands, licking into Jack’s mouth again and again and again.

Jack moans helplessly, clutching at Eric’s thigh with one hand and his back with the other. Muscles shift and flex under his fingers and it’s good, it’s all so good, he’s getting so hard, so fast, and he needs to stop, they can’t do this now, but he can’t stop, he just can’t and-

A sudden knock has Jack practically leaping away as Eric scrambles to cover them up. Neither of them is very successful but at least they both have a fluffy pillow covering their laps before the adjoining door pushes open and a short, bored-looking woman strides through.

“’Sup, losers. Just making sure you’re awake.”

Eric looks as red-faced as Jack feels but he still doesn’t say anything. She turns towards Jack.

“Hey Jack, I’m Larissa.”

Jack nods frantically, grateful she’s not asking for a last name. Larissa tilts her head towards him but looks at Eric, raising one perfectly-arched eyebrow in what seems to be a questioning sort of way.

Eric smiles and reaches over to give Jack’s fingers a squeeze. The eyebrow lifts still higher before she shrugs and looks at Jack again. “You staying for breakfast?”

 “Um- ah- I- I guess I could. If… if you want?” He turns to Eric for reassurance. Eric just smiles- again- and squeezes his fingers- again. Ah. Apparently those two are also quite skilled in non-verbal communication. Makes sense, if they travel together and Eric has to rest his voice a lot.

He frowns with a sudden thought and amends, “If the hotel has healthy options, that is.”

Larissa snorts and eyes all of him that’s not covered by a pillow from top to bottom and then back up. Jack tries not to squirm under her gaze.

Her eyebrow-raising is 10x more intimidating than Eric’s. It feels like she can see right through him.

“Let me guess…. an absurd amount of lean protein, no carbs unless they’re whole grain, a full serving of vegetables, another of fruit, both unprocessed, no refined sugar period, and only healthy fats allowed?”

Jack gapes at her. She  _knows_.

It was too much to hope that she wouldn’t know hockey just because Eric doesn’t, and they live in LA.

Eric trusts her so she probably(?) won’t out him to the world but she’ll tell  _him_ , he’s her co-worker, they’re friends, she looks out for him during his hook-ups, as soon as Jack walks out the door, she’s going to turn to Eric and say-

“You jock types are all the same.”

Jack flushes red with embarrassment, tries to unclench his fists, steady his breathing. He’s ashamed of his own self-centeredness and the way he leapt straight into panic. He aims for a rueful grin but is sure he fails. “Boring and predictable, eh?”

She eyes him again and he tries to look like a nobody, albeit a naked one. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

Larissa shifts to encompass them both under the strength of her brow, wrinkles her nose, and states flatly, “Food will be up in 30 minutes. If you still smell by then, I am  _not_  feeding you two.”

She spins on her heel and marches off. Just before she shuts the adjoining door, she shouts over her shoulder, “Shower or starve!”

At the click of the lock, Eric turns to Jack, face red and mortified. Automatically, Jack reaches out an arm to pull him in and Eric hides his face against Jack’s chest. He murmurs, “And I thought  _my_  co-workers were bad about boundaries and personal space.” The stifled giggle tickles his bare skin. He presses a kiss to Eric’s hair and adds, “Short on time… care to share the shower?”

Eric peeks up at him, cheeks pink. Jack leans down to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I promise, no fooling around. Unless you want it. As long as you don’t do anything below my waist, I should be alright.” Eric looks skeptical, so he clarifies, “Rubbing your hips into or against me counts. Think you can play nice?”

Eric giggles and pulls away to get to his feet. God, Jack loves that sound. He starts to follow and then stops.  _Shitty_. He changes course to grab his phone off the night-stand and tries to ignore the appreciative _mm-hmm_ from behind him. The string of texts waiting for him will take some time to decipher but for now he shuts off his alarm, texts out  _Safe. Woke up hungry so having good breakfast before hitting the elliptical._  He thinks for a moment then sends an addendum.  _Knees a little sore this morning._  It’s the closest he can get to deets without seeing his best friend in person. And… he’s not sure he wants to share this.

He turns back to find Eric holding out a spare charger. Jack smiles gratefully, struck again by Eric’s care and attention to detail. “You know just what I need, eh?” He takes the charger and bends to kiss him thoroughly, cupping Eric’s hip in one palm to keep their bodies apart.

Shower. Food. Right.

Turns out Eric’s preferred morning shower temperature is at a heat that Jack only indulges in when he’s trying to ease post-game muscle soreness. A chill shower helps Jack cool down after a run and wake up more fully but there’s something delightfully indulgent about warmth pouring over his skin for no practical reason. He lets Eric massage shampoo into his scalp but takes over to rinse them both, covering Eric’s eyes with one hand and using the other to tilt his head from one side to the other. A nudge to one side, a tug to the other, and he’s turned Eric to the side, watching the spray impact over his chest and rivulets run down his body. 

 _C_ _risse_ , they don’t have time. Jack has a game.

Jack hurriedly grabs the loofah and bodywash and dedicates himself to scrubbing them both thoroughly as Eric rubs conditioner into their hair. He even manages not to get too distracted by Eric’s gorgeously perky backside but when he rubs over Eric’s chest a sudden gasp makes him freeze and pull away. “Are- did I hurt you?”

Eric shakes his head and delicately fingers the marks Jack left over his heart. “Um- sensitive?”

Eric nods and glances down, suddenly seeming shy as Jack strokes the loofah over his skin with a softer touch, eyes set on Eric’s face for any sign of pain. A long moment of silence, then Eric’s the one pulling back, crossing his arms over his chest, and giving Jack a demanding look.

Jack is baffled. “What?” Eric just gestures to his own chest and then to Jack’s. Jack looks down.

He hadn’t gotten a good, long look at Eric yet this morning and now that he has, he’s frankly astonished that Larissa didn’t say something. He had so much fun carefully applying a curve of hickies over one nipple and under the other that it looks utterly unlike anything that could be dismissed as a heat of the moment impulse.

Eric looks more like some awkward artist got creative with bruise-colored body paint.

And Jack is, well, completely unmarked. “Not very fair, is it?”

Eric just shakes his head and looks at him expectantly, slightly amused but also stubborn. “Ah… how about you even things up a bit?”

Eric looks disbelieving, so he clarifies, “If I keep my hands to myself and you stay above the waist, I should be able to keep things in check, eh? Wake me up a bit.”

Eric tilts his head as if considering it, so Jack puts the loofah back, quickly rinses himself off, and presses his back firmly against the cold wall of the shower, hands pressed flat against the hard surface. He tilts his head back in offering, closes his eyes in anticipation, and forces out, “An… anything you want to do. Just have to be able to hide it under a shirt.”

Jack breathes slowly in and out once, twice, three times before Eric’s fingers suddenly splay over his chest and he feels sharp teeth nip lightly at his collarbone. A small hicky just below his shoulder. An array of marks just above where his chest hair starts to get thickest around his nipples and along his sternum.

Jack’s never gotten marks like this before. Slow and careful, no kissing first, deliberately trying to focus on the cold sensations behind him and keeping their bodies apart, arousal to a minimum. The sensations are sharper somehow, like he can feel every tooth as Eric bites, open-mouthed, over his heart. Jack chokes out, “I want to see you on my skin.”

Eric slows, stills, then carefully moves his head a few inches to the right and bites again. A few inches down then sucks a tiny, fierce mark that makes Jack throb. Then another, a little down, a little over, then another. Again. Again. A few inches under his nipple Eric opens his mouth, suction no less intense for the added size. Then a little up, a little over, again, again. Jack is panting, trying to keep his mind clear, trying to focus, and he fixates on the pattern Eric’s creating.

When Eric finally pulls his head back, Jack runs a hand over the marks, feeling the tender spots. He frowns in confused familiarity for a moment before blurting out, “Did- did you just make a smiley face?"

He opens his eyes and Eric is just laughing, laughing, laughing.

Jack is laughing, too, and playfully shoves him away.

Eric stumbles back and nearly slips on the porcelain, grabbing at Jack’s shoulders just in time.

Jack clutches him tight in a panic, gasping,  _“Crisse,_  I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean- I didn’t think-” He wraps his arms all the way around Eric’s slender body and rocks them together under the spray. Eric’s arms are still on his shoulders and Jack buries his face against the slick blonde hair. “I wouldn’t- I’d never-” He takes a deep breath and pulls back, cupping Eric’s cheeks. “Eric- please- I promise- I will never, ever hurt you on purpose, or knock you down, or make you feel trapped. I don’t- don’t roughhouse much so I’m not sure- what’s okay- don’t know my own strength sometimes and I’m too big and too clumsy but I would never- I won’t- I will always try to be  _safe_  for you.”

Eric’s eyes are big and frozen and unsure for a long, long moment after Jack’s voice fades away into a whisper. Jack’s dropping his hands, starting to retreat when Eric finally gives him a slow nod. “Are you sure, Eric? Really sure? I can go- you don’t have to-”

Eric gives him a little smile then tugs him down into a gentle kiss. Jack keeps his mouth soft and lets him lead, holding Eric like he’s made of glass, precious beyond words. When they break apart, Jack strokes his cheek and whispers, “I don’t deserve you.” Eric snorts a little in disbelief before nuzzling Jack’s fingers and giving him a lazy smile. “Okay- then- at least- how- how can I make it up to you?”

The raised eyebrow he gets in return suggests that Jack may be taking his guilt a bit too far but when he reddens and mutters, “It would make me feel better,” Eric eyes him thoughtfully before guiding him to turn and face the shower wall. Jack hisses as a firm nudge from Eric presses his heated front against the slick, cold porcelain.

He wants to turn back, take Eric into his arms again, press their bodies together, chase after his warmth but he asked for absolution and Eric is going to give it to him.

He wills himself to hold still as Eric squeezes his ass hard with both hands then abruptly shifts position. Jack is about to ask what’s going to happen when teeth suddenly dig into the meatiest part of his right cheek. He cries out, loud, as his fingers scrabble for purchase against the slick shower wall but Eric is holding him steady, stabilizing him with his strong, capable hands pushing him more firmly into the wall as the teeth are joined by a powerful amount of suction and Jack whimpers at the feeling of being so utterly overpowered.

After a long moment, Eric pulls back and gently kisses over the mark he left and  _oh_ , is that going to leave a mark. Possibly visible teethmarks, too. Jack laughs shakily and asks, “Staking your claim, eh?” Eric snickers and stands up, wrapping his arms around Jack from behind and running soothing hands up and down his abs and chest.

Or it _would_ be soothing if it wasn’t for the way Jack’s dick is still pressed uncomfortably against the cold, hard wall. Or if he didn’t feel Eric’s cock full and nudging against the back of his thighs and the underside of his ass. A loud groan escapes Jack as he drops his chin to his chest. “Eric, _please_ , I- I can’t-”

Eric is gone in an instant, the rustle of the shower curtain and a blast of cold air marking his exit. Jack wants to whimper at the loss but instead he hurriedly turns off the water and pulls the shower curtain aside.

Eric is wrapped in a towel from armpits to knees, looking guilty and unsure and more than a little miserable with water dripping off his nose and shoulders. “Eric- please- no- don’t go- it’s my fault and I-”

Jack steps out of the shower and when Eric immediately takes a step back, Jack sits himself on the bathtub rim, feeling again too big and too awkward and too much for this small space and this slim, elegant man.

Eric still looks hesitant, but he lets Jack tug him forward to stand between his knees. Jack rubs lightly at his hips and rests his forehead on Eric’s sternum, keeping the pressure soft so he can leave at any time. “It’s not your fault my job’s intense and I’m paranoid about being prepared and have all these weird, strict rules and routines beforehand. It’s not your fault I…. I haven’t been fucked in _so long_ and am so desperate for it and still telling you no. It’s not your fault I’m wishing I could skip work and spend the whole day in your bed letting you do whatever you wanted with me and my body. It’s not your fault I have to work until late and I’ll probably be tired afterwards and I’m flying out tomorrow and-” He chokes on his words as strong fingers slide through his hair and Eric makes little shushing noises in his ear.

Jack wraps his arms around Eric’s hips and an arm slides around his shoulders in response. He nuzzles quietly against Eric’s towel-clad chest until a low grumble from his stomach interrupts them. They both laugh softly as they pull away and Jack looks up at him with a crooked grin. “Maybe I’ll be less pathetic after I’ve eaten, eh?” Eric gives him a scolding frown and pulls him into a firm kiss, nipping decisively at Jack’s lower lip as if to argue the point.

Jack thoroughly enjoys toweling Eric off the rest of the way but waves him off when he tries to return the favor. “Not sure my self-control can survive you rubbing me anymore, yeah?” Eric just giggles and slicks some gel through his hair, lotion on his face, deodorant under his arms.

Jack trails Eric out of the bathroom trying hard not to admire the view, the way his muscles shift and flex as he walks. Jack doesn’t know what Eric does to stay so fit, but it is seriously working for him. He’s so lithe and perfectly proportionate all over that Jack is guessing a lot of bodyweight work, maybe resistance training, but little actual weights or machines. Plenty of cardio. Runner? Dancer? Swimmer? Eric’s back and shoulder muscles shift and twist as he looks back over one shoulder, hip cocked, and- oh. He's caught Jack staring again.

Jack blushes and stutters an apology but neither of them manages to look very sorry about it as they pull their clothes on. He pulls Eric back in for one last kiss, slow and soft and sweet, before Eric knocks on Larissa’s door and lets them in.

A big spread is laid out at the table in her room- a crock of oatmeal, a heaping bowl of eggs scrambled with roasted vegetables, a stack of broiled chicken, another of wheat toast, a bowl of fruit, a plate of avocado slices, a pitcher of coffee. Easily enough for the three of them with some left over, but there’s only one chair and place setting at the table. Larissa waves Jack to the spot, “There you go, Jack the Jock. Thought you looked awfully hungry.”

Jack gapes at her. There’s no way- she couldn’t mean- he searches for a sign that she’s joking but her face is calm and serious as she gazes steadily at him…. before pointedly flicking her eyes to Eric’s chest and then back at him.

Oh.

_Oh._

His face burns as her expression finally cracks up. He struggles to come up with a witty comeback but he's got nothing. His one-night-stands are something he hides and the idea of a stranger not just knowing so much but making jokes about it is something he’s never encountered before and since it was with a man everything is amplified. Sex is so rare and precious, and Jack’s orientation is so hidden and vulnerable that even Shitty rarely teases about it.

One thing’s for sure, Shitty would be on his feet using all his best ice puns to salute her for landing such a burn on the hockey robot. Had she been planning this since she walked in on them earlier and saw what Jack did to Eric’s skin?

Eric interrupts his introspection by flicking Larissa hard on the ear, dragging over more chairs, and flicking her again until she pulls out more plates and silverware. Eric gestures to Jack to help himself first and he tries to take what seems like standard human portions of everything for his first round.

He watches quietly as Eric helps himself to food, drizzles honey on his oatmeal, and slathers his toast with butter and jam before settling down and watching him right back.

A long moment stretches between them.

“For cripes sake,” snaps Larissa. “Less staring contests, more eating.”

“No, uh, it’s just- I was raised that guests have to wait for the host to start eating before they can begin.”

Larissa snorts, “Canadians. Eric here considers himself a good Southern boy and _they_ can’t start eating until the guest’s mouth is full.” She shakes her head and chuckles, “Guess you’re both going to starve then.”

Jack looks over at Eric, who shrugs and nods. “Good Southern boy, eh?” Eric giggles and turns a little pink.

Jack thinks of how his accent got thick when he started to lose control, and again when he first woke up, and turns a little pink, too.

He coughs to cover it up and tries to distract them with, “You know, my _maman_ always said the host eats first thing was good manners but my papa said it was to make sure they hadn’t poisoned the food.”

Eric swats his arm and tries to look offended but they’re both grinning. Together they scoop forkfuls of eggs and lift them up, eyeing each other carefully to make sure they’re biting simultaneously before cracking up again, this time with food in their mouths. Larissa rolls her eyes.

Jack probably shouldn’t be surprised, given how nice the hotel is, but the food is excellent, especially by room service standards and he eagerly helps himself to seconds, careful to leave some of everything for the other two.

When Eric finishes, however, he passes up more food in favor of a mug that smells like more Throat Coat tea and leans against Jack’s shoulder. Instinctively, Jack switches his fork to his other hand so he can wrap an arm around him and keep eating one-handed. Eric snuggles right into his side with a happy-sounding _mmmm_.

 _Crisse_ , does that feel good.

Larissa abandons more chirping in favor of conversation (or maybe she just wants to reign in the cuddling) and eventually asks Jack about his plans for the day.

 _Merde_. Can he do this without lying outright? He takes a long moment to think about it.

“Well- euh- after we’re done here I’ll have to head out for a team meeting. Go over everything and practice for our big presentation tonight. Work lunch to talk about strategy and contingency plans for if something goes wrong. Then everyone gets a few hours to themselves to take a nap or unwind. Early dinner and then heading back in. Most of our work will be done by around 8:30 or so but we always have to stay after to answer questions and go over how things went with the bosses. We’re usually done by 10 and- I-”

He realizes suddenly that this is the best opening he’s going to get, assuming he’s brave enough to take it.

“-I don’t usually go out afterwards with the other guys, I’m…. more the type to curl up in my pjs and watch something relaxing.”

He peeks cautiously down to see Eric smiling softly up at him.

He can do this.

“And I- uh- I’m usually pretty tired afterwards and want to unwind but it’s nice to have company sometimes and I... have a long morning with no responsibilities tomorrow before I head to the airport.”

 _Words_ , Eric would say. “I- even- if I pack up all my stuff this afternoon during our downtime, I can leave from- um- wherever I am and meet up with the rest of my co-workers at the terminal.”

There.

That was clear enough, right?

Larissa is giving him the eyebrow again. Eric is still tucked under his arm and hasn’t moved. Jack stares resolutely down at his plate and spears some stray bell pepper slices with one hand while rubbing his thumb back and forth across Eric's shoulder with the other.

Finally, Larissa says quietly, “We’re usually pretty tired afterwards, too. Vocal exercises and warm-ups this morning, check what kinda state everyone’s voice is in-” (Eric gets another eye flick) “-head out to the venue a few hours early to make sure everything is all set up, sound check, wardrobe and make-up since there’ll be cameras, more warm-ups, main event, make sure there’s time to talk to as many teens as possible one on one, and what time we’ll be done depends on how many of them want pictures or have questions. Could be anywhere between 9 and 11 tonight and will be more exhausting the longer it lasts. Flying back to LA tomorrow.”

Jack nods and carefully doesn’t look up. Eric had told him that slipping out last night and being around people was a rare exception for him, with the demands of his job.

“I…. I understand,” he says at last. “I didn’t…. mean to presume.”

It’s taking everything he has not to clutch Eric tighter. He’s clenching his fork too tight; his knuckles have gone white.

There’s a long moment of silence and then Eric stretches up and carefully kisses Jack’s cheek. Jack doesn’t know what it means.

He’s not entirely sure that Larissa does, either, but she carefully adds, “If someone wanted to find out how tired you were tonight, how would they reach you? Assuming they’re not too tired themselves, which is a very real possibility.” She has a warning look on her face and he can’t tell which of them it’s aimed at. Maybe both.

“I, um, could leave my number? My father showed me a neat way to write it, so it doesn’t even look like a phone number. That way if someone drops it and someone else finds it, there’s not as much of a chance of- um- prank calls.”

Oops. That’s not exactly plausible. How does he explain that his father warned him about the dangers of letting his phone number get discovered by indiscreet individuals?

“Hidden messages? What is he, a Canadian secret agent?”

Jack chuckles. Papa will like that one. “No, just very private. And my maman thought it was funny so he kept up with it. See, you use it to make an imaginary address, something that will remind whoever it is of you somehow.”

Eric is pressing a pad of paper and a pen into his hand and he has to pull back his arm to clear a space and start writing. “In the U.S., you use the first two numbers of the area code as the street address and the next three as an apartment or suite number.” He carefully writes out _51 Peachbud Ave, Apt. 555._ “The city can be wherever you are if you don’t want to stick out, or somewhere else if you don’t want the locals to immediately realize that the zipcode is a fake because you used the last 5 digits of the phone number.” He adds in _Providence, RI 56420._ “There. 515-555-6420. Doesn’t look like a phone number at all but the numbers are all there and in order. The main thing you want to be sure of is that it looks real enough to pass first glance but not so real that you accidentally direct someone to a real person’s house.”

Eric is peering at the innocent fake address with interest, but Jack can’t bring himself to try to give his number directly to him. He sets the paper and pen down in front of him on the table and forces himself to add quietly, “Please don’t feel obligated. If you’re not up for it or too tired or just, um. Don’t want to. I know I have no claim on your time. I know I’ll be tired. I just wanted to…. offer.”

No one says anything.

Eric is staring at the number and Larissa is staring at Eric and Jack is staring at the table.

He’s itching to reach out to Eric, wrap his arm around him again, and he doesn’t know how to still his twitchy fingers without clenching them into fists.

The silence stretches until Jack feels like it might break him.

At last Eric takes a deep breath, lets out a long, shaky sigh and presses his cheek into Jack’s shoulder. Instantly Jack pulls him in, both arms this time, and presses his face to Eric’s hair.

Larissa is so close and eyeing them so intently that he feels even more naked now than he did earlier, but he can’t bring himself to hold back.

The silence stretches again but Jack doesn’t care this time, not as long as he can have this. Aggressive Shitty snuggles and embraces from his parents’ occasional visits just don’t compare to this quiet warmth against his side, the sparks of contact running through his skin.

Eric doesn’t put his arms around Jack in return, or his hand on Jack’s thigh, or anything like that, but he doesn’t pull away, either, just relaxes soft and sweet against Jack's body.

After another long minute, Larissa says lowly, “I meant it about the exhaustion. Last time he stayed until he’d talked to every single young person that had a question and passed out in the car so bad I had to drag him up to his room and dump him into bed.”

Jack just nods. He knows what she’s saying. _Don’t take it personally._ _It’s not you, it’s him_.

But she didn’t say no. She asked how to reach him. Eric looked interested. Maybe….

Distantly, he hears an alarm ringing through the open door to Eric’s room. Time to go.

He sighs, and gently pulls away from Eric. “Thank you for the jock-type breakfast. Most people don’t get enough protein in their diets, particularly in the morning.”

Larissa snorts out a laugh and he realizes the double meaning just a beat too late, stumbling as he tries to get out of his seat, “Oh- euh- I mean-”, but the damage is done.

Eric is giggling, cheeks pink, and now Larissa is laughing outright at the red-faced look on Jack’s face and he beats a hasty retreat to Eric’s room, soft feet padding along behind him, the door clicking shut behind them both.

He shuts off his alarm and takes a minute to compose himself before he turns to Eric, who is trying to smile but just looks so vulnerable, and, no, anything but that.

He wants Eric laughing again, with his brilliant smile and bold touches.

Jack strides over and presses their lips together, kissing him deeply.

“Anything I can do for you before I leave? Still a little bit of time if you want to bite me again.”

And- yes- Jack said the right thing because Eric’s head is thrown back, eyes crinkled shut as the laughter pours out of him and it’s the easiest thing in the world for Jack to bend his head to Eric’s throat and feel his delight vibrating against his mouth. He brushes his lips back and forth against the skin, then as the laughs begin to fade he blows a quick raspberry into the soft spot between neck and shoulder and Eric practically shrieks, clutching him closer as he dissolves into giggles.

Jack grins at him, extraordinarily pleased with his success and the sunshine on Eric’s face, and he keeps smiling through their next kiss. “Chin up, eh? Whatever happens tonight… I had a wonderful time. And I have a whole new list of restaurants to try out on my trips.”

He wants to say more- aches to- wants to hold him tight one last time, squeeze the most amazing ass he's ever seen, thank Eric for this opportunity and the difference it made and tell him how badly he wants to see him again, but he has a feeling Eric already knows.

He doesn’t want Eric to feel guilty or obligated and he definitely doesn’t want his last look at him to be of the hopeful/sad face he saw at the breakfast table when they talked about tonight. But this sweet, gorgeous smile, big brown eyes shining, this Jack wants to remember forever.

He dips down for one last kiss. “See you around, eh? And let me know about those ballet classes.” He smiles crookedly at Eric’s smirk and heads back through Larissa’s door. He glances back just once and Eric gives him a little wave from the doorframe. Jack clumsily blows him a kiss and Eric catches it, curls it to his heart.

Jack turns away before he does something stupid like throwing himself to his knees and begging Eric to keep him.

Larissa has come up with yet another raised-eyebrow expression, but she says nothing as she walks Jack out and peers down the hall. It seems empty, but she pulls Jack into a big, showy hug and offers him a fist bump. “Thanks for a fun time, bro.”

Jack gapes a little and he fumbles for a response as he realizes how smoothly she’s offering herself as an alibi. Has she acted as Eric’s beard before, covered for other closeted hook-ups?

It’s not his place to ask.

He stutters out a _thank you_ and a red-faced _you, too_ and sets off down the hall.

Maybe she has better vision than Jack because the small seating area in front of the elevator has two big guys lounging in the delicate-looking chairs. They look way more like jock bros than Jack does in his fitted shirt and jeans, both in basketball shorts, loose tees, and backwards baseball caps. One gives Jack a little bro nod of acknowledgement but there’s no sign of recognition and neither speaks as Jack awkwardly waits for the elevator to arrive.

 

************************************************************************************** 

 

He goes through practice and the team lunch/strategy session almost in a daze. The thrill of possibly seeing Eric again, the fear that he’ll never hear from him and never know if it was because Eric didn’t want to see him or was just too tired, the deep satisfaction of his orgasm and more kissing and touching than he’d had in years, belated understanding of the risk he took inviting a stranger into his car and going to his hotel, all swirl through his system and leave him in an odd sort of emotional balance.

No one seems to notice. It’s the season-opener tonight so everyone’s more than a little on edge. Tater and Snowy seem particularly excited, even by their standards, but Jack isn’t concerned enough to find out why. Hockey now, he can figure everything else out after the game. He's more focused on dressing and undressing very, very carefully so nobody sees the mementos Eric left on his chest and ass.

Of course, that only lasts until Shitty calls him 2 minutes into his drive home. Jack fumbles for his Bluetooth and only barely manages to get out, “Hey, Shits” before excited yelling fills his speakers.

_“Jackabelle, you beautiful motherfucking Adonis, I am not waiting one more minute for deets. I gave you your space and respected your practice and didn’t even try to snag you before you had team lunch so now it is time to give it up! Oh wait, you already did, don’t think I didn’t know what you meant about sore knees. Lay it on me, Jackiepie.”_

“I- um- what’s the proper protocol after hook-ups?”

_“As in aftercare and stuff?”_

“No, like, snuggling and staying good-bye and keeping in touch and stuff.”

_“My precious baby Jack-Jack, are you saying you want to see this guy again?”_

“Not- I- he lives in LA and he’s leaving tomorrow. But maybe… tonight? If I’m not too tired? I gave him my number. And he’ll be busy all day today and he’s working late, too, so he’s probably not going to be watching the news or tuning into any sports shows that cover hockey.”

_“Angel boy fuck you so good you want to go back?”_

“No, ah, couldn’t the night before a game, it’s been too long, I’d probably be sore afterwards. We did… other things. And this morning, it was game day so I… I couldn’t do anything but I think he wanted to and I want to… make it up to him?”

_“You mean when you texted me last night about sleeping in, you were still in his motherfucking bed?? BRAH.”_

“I- uh- wanted to be safe. And let you know I was okay. And he- euh- invited me to stay. And I said yes.”

 _“Jackiepoo_ , _you didn’t even do that with the girls in college you were actually dating. You served your 20 minutes of snuggling and then booked it out of there so you could get up early and run the next morning.”_

“I know Shits, I _know_.”

_“So…. spill, dude.”_

“I- he- he made me feel so _safe_ , Shits. I can’t remember when I’ve ever hung out with another guy who was interested in guys and gotten to talk about hiding and faking it and being closeted and everything. He… his smile is like sunshine, I swear I’m not exaggerating. And even when I said we couldn’t do anything this morning he didn’t throw me out, we kept kissing, and-”

_“My darling Jackabelle, when’s the last time somebody held you?”_

“This morning.”

_“Ha ha, nice. I meant before that.”_

“When you climbed into my bed during your last visit.”

_“And before that?”_

“Your visit before that. And my parents before that.”

_“Jack, m’dude, you know what they say about hugs.”_

“Yeah, yeah, 4 for survival, 8 for maintenance, 12 for growth.”

 _“That’s a_ day _, my maple-coated robot, not a month.”_

“Yeah, well, season’s starting up so I’ll get some Tater pouncing bear-hugs and on-ice cellies again.”

_“Jack, brah, that’s not enough, I mean it’s-”_

“Well, what else am I supposed to do, Shits? I’m not interested in being with a woman right now, I have no idea how to even find somebody I’d be compatible with, much less be able to tell if they’re really interested in me or just faking it for the money and the fame, I can’t have a boyfriend even if I find one because just being seen platonically with a gorgeous blonde guy a couple of times would start up the rumors all over again and-”

_“I knew it, I knew he was blonde, I totally called it-”_

“-I didn’t give him my number just because I wanted hugs. He’s leaving tomorrow, it’ll be perfect. Maybe- maybe if he’s interested, we can keep texting, Skype occasionally or something. It’s the best possible scenario right now.”

_“You know you deserve all the happiness in the world, right, dude?”_

“Now you sound like my mother.”

_“Who is a very wise woman. Now, back to the deets. Do you want to go back for more because you got along and he knows you’re bi and it’s a safe bet, or was he just that magically mind-blowing that one taste and you’re hooked?”_

Jack lets his silence be his answer.

_“My Canadian-coated dumpling, don’t leave me in suspense. Just how good are we talking here?”_

“Shits, it’s- it’s private, you know I have a hard time sharing about this stuff.”

_“Vague deets, then, c’mon, give me something to work with here.”_

“It’s just… I feel like I’ve never been with someone who knew what they were doing before. High school was an awkward, fumbling mess and college was a little better but we still barely had it down, I had this hook-up 2 years ago that tried to impress me with her technique and I got off but it just felt so clinical, but Eric….. he…. He was confident. Competent. Skilled. But he didn’t make me feel bad about being unsure or nervous and he….”

His voice drops so low he’s not even sure his phone will pick it up. “He made me feel like there was nowhere else he wanted to be.”

It was the truth. He’d never felt as sexy as he had last night, with Eric cupping his cheeks and looking deep into his eyes, smiling softly down at him. And then with his hands all over him….

Jack couldn't remember ever even feeling sexy, period, just sometimes he was aroused enough to do something about it. But Eric...

“I want to give him everything I can.”

_“Well, damn, brah, that was fucking beautiful. You have the supplies to do that?”_

“Um- I- ah-”

_“You are talking about fucking bottoming, right? Because from the sounds of your voice, it totally sounds like you want to bend over for this Eric guy. And how the fuck have I known you for this long without realizing you’re a bottom?”_

“No, uh, it’s not that I always- it’s just been so long and- with girls I always-he- I- he knows- I trust him- he could-um- I know he… he could make it good for me.”

Jack is intensely grateful that he’s made it safely home by now and can slump over the wheel to hide his face.

_“That is one hell of a competence kink you got there, bro.”_

“Well, it’s not like that’s something I want to do with an amateur!”

_“Which brings us back to my previous question, bro. You have supplies?”_

“No. I don’t. And the friend he travels with has condoms, and some sort of lube but we didn’t use it so I don’t know what type. I don’t know about anything else. He said he hasn’t been with anyone for 6 months and I got the impression that he doesn’t do hook-ups much. He… he seemed more like the go out on a few dates and really get to know them first type of guy.”

_“As are you, my marble sculpture of love. Probably why there was all that snuggling.”_

“So- yeah- I don’t have- don’t know if he- he’s going to be really busy today- and I can’t- don’t know where to buy- can’t just walk into a drugstore and- season opener is tonight and PR has been hyping it up all over town- I need- prepared- and I don't- and I _can’t-_ ”

_“Whoa whoa whoa, breathe, baby, breathe. In for 3, hold it, and out for 3, yeah? Come on, breathe with me, I’ll count. One…. two… three.. perfect, beautiful, hold it, now slow release, one… two… three. You with me, Jack?”_

“Yeah. Thank you. Sorry. I just….”

_“I’ll tell you what you’re going to do. The game tonight isn’t completely sold out, yeah?”_

“Nah. There’s some tickets left. Providence loves us but we’re still establishing ourselves.”

_“Right. So what you’re going to do is reserve the best seat you can for your very best friend and make sure it includes a back-stage pass and after the game we’ll meet up outside the locker room and I’ll smooch your face, affirm your life choices, and slip you a motherfucking goodie bag, you got that?”_

“Shits, I can’t ask you to do that, that’s-”

_“Exactly the type of thing a best friend should do. And you’re not asking, I’m offering. Who better to waltz into Boston’s finest sex shop and procure everything you need for a nighttime of gay pleasure? Good Vibrations even has a Harvard Square storefront now.”_

“I…. I’ll pay you back.”

_“Fucking right you will…. in deets!!”_

“Ha ha. We’ll see.”

_“See you tonight, my man.”_

“Yeah. See you, Shits.”

Jack heads upstairs, reserves the ticket under the name _Mr. B. Knight_ , sends Shitty $50 on Friendsend with the memo _supplies_ , thinks about it, then sends another $25 with the memo _delivery charge and concessions._

 

_**********************************************************_

 

The surreal balance between all his conflicting emotions holds throughout his nap, as he drifts off thinking about Eric holding him close and stroking his hair, and wakes with his alarm to fumble hurriedly at his phone with the sudden thought that Eric might have texted him already.

The locker room is…. a different matter. Season openers are always high energy but Tater and Snowy are jumping up and down and shouting, “B! B! B!”

He mutters to Marty, _> What the hell…?<_

Marty rolls his eyes and mutters back, _> The new inclusion and diversity initiative, remember? George got a singer with a huge queer fanbase to do the national anthem at 1/10th their usual appearance fee.<_

_> And Tater and Snowy are…. fans?<_

_> Let’s find out.<_ Marty shouts, “Hey Tater! Snowy! You excited about our special guest?”

Thirdy groans, “Don’t encourage them,” but it’s too late.

Snowy jumps onto a bench, fully padded except for his skates, claps out some sort of beat, and suddenly he and Tater are both singing, _“Mama said, ‘He’s a nice boy, why don’t you settle down?’”_ and Jack watches in awe as nearly a third of the locker room chimes in to shout, _“I said, MA! MA! MA! I wanna run around.”_

There’s a lot of hip gyrations, too.

Jack frowns in confusion. “So their music is… popular?”

Now Marty and Thirdy are both frowning at him.

“You don’t recognize that?”, Thirdy finally says. “It was the big summer anthem last year.” There’s an extra tone in his voice that Jack can’t place until he looks at them and, oh.

Marty and Thirdy both know he’s bi, as does George, and they clearly think this is something that a not-straight guy should know. Doubly so since this whole initiative is at least partly for his benefit.

Georgia’s description of her future plans for the Falcs and improving the league’s homophobia through a bold, vocal example is one of the reasons he signed to the Falconers. But ever since he came out to her and his fellow co-captains at the end of last season, it’s had an extra edge of deliberate carefulness, as they’re hoping to ease the way not just for the NHL as a whole, but Jack in particular.

He reddens a little and mutters, “I spent last summer working out. And this summer. And, you know, me and dad music.”

Snowy and Tater finally finish singing and Tater returns to his place near Jack. “You excited, Zimmboni? B so beautiful and so talented, can’t wait to meet. Me and Snowy, joined B’s Babies club and everything. Think we get autographs after the game?”

“We need to focus on the game first,” Jack scolds and Tater looks about to retort when the coach walks in for their final pep talk.

“Alright guys, it’s the season opener, but we’ve got this. You all had great off-seasons and pre-seasons, our lines are meshing well, and we’re up against the Ducks. And I know I’m not allowed to offer bribery, but if you play well, I _may_ invite a certain pop star back to the family lounge to say hi after the game. Good luck and get on out there.”

Tater is practically vibrating with excitement. Snowy smacks his stick and sings, “Outlive! Outlove! Outlast!” and Jack gapes as a full _half_ of the locker room shouts each line back at him. They trudge out to the tunnel with a handful of guys still singing the verses.

Jack doesn’t catch all the lyrics but there’s something about survival, something about making the world a better place, and was that a line about how if you kill yourself the terrorists win??

Whatever. They have hockey to play. Jack needs to focus on the game and give it his all, so he can face the rest of his night with a clear mind and no regrets.

They skate out, do their laps, and line up for the anthem.

Hockey now.

Eric later.

Maybe the extra distraction will encourage the guys to rush through press and clear out quickly. He’s seen Tater swoon over beautiful, talented women (especially singers) before but nothing like this.

But maybe that’s because the small figure stepping out onto red carpet on the other end of the ice is…. dressed like the Statue of Liberty? Green robes drape around a lithe figure with a crown of spikes holding something rectangular in one arm and, yes, something weird has been done with the microphone so it looks like a flaming torch. Bare arms and face are dusted with something that looks nothing like bronze patina but has the suggestion of it, somehow, despite the shimmering, almost sparkle quality to it. Jack knew the pop world has been veering into drastic stunts and costumes lately (something Tater told him about a Gaga and meat dresses?) but this seems extreme for a short formality before a game. 

All this glitz and display just to make it easier for Jack to come out one day?

Jack shakes his head.

Whatever.

It’s hockey time.

Hockey… then Eric.

He breathes deep and thinks over their strategy as a beautiful, talented voice washes over the arena.

_“Ohhh-OHHH, say can you seeeeeeeeeeeeeee?”_

Jack gasps and grabs at the partition to keep himself upright as that _ohhhh_ reverberates through his ears and he’s suddenly hit with the most sudden, uncomfortable, unexpected boner of his _entire life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lord, Jack is so touch-starved it hurts. 
> 
> Everyone knows that neither of these boys is engaging in standard hook-up behavior and conventions, yes? These boys are so far from real life they don't even know what's typical.
> 
> So I found out the consent acronym I mentioned last time actually has an extra S- It's Informed, Freely-Given, Specific, *Sober*, Ongoing, Enthusiastic. "IF SSOE, it's a go."
> 
> "Ain't no sorry" is a homage to one of the first fantastic gay webcomics I ever read- The Less Than Epic Adventures of TJ and Amal, fully complete, gorgeously illustrated, read it here at http://tjandamal.com/index.html
> 
> Good Vibrations is a famous feminist, sex-positive shop with 10 physical locations (including one right by Harvard!) and a huge online store: https://www.goodvibes.com/s/
> 
> Friendsend mention is from this comic: http://checkpleasecomic.com/comic/03-11-09
> 
> The "4 hugs a day for survival, 8 for maintenance, 12 for growth" is a paraphrase of a quote from family therapist Virginia Satir. Apparently she's really famous and well-known in the therapy world but I only know I've encountered this quote about a billion times. I don't know if it's true for everyone but it's SUPER true for people who have Touch as one of their Five Love Languages.  
> Quote mentioned here: https://www.forbes.com/sites/carolynrosenblatt/2011/01/18/magic-touch-six-things-you-can-do-to-connect-in-a-disconnected-world/#283ac64d51af  
> I don't agree with everything he says but Gary Chapman's 1995 release of the 5 love languages concept changed pretty much everything about the way people talk about relationships (even non-romantic ones) and their emotional needs: https://www.5lovelanguages.com/2018/06/the-five-love-languages-defined/
> 
> Got to edit this a bit, break up some big paragraphs and the like, but still not beta'ed so constructive criticism is super welcome. I want to know what works so I know what to write more of!
> 
> Next chapter: Revelations!


	4. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awkward hockey robot Jack Zimmermann encounters a few bugs in his programming.  
> Namely, that he *can* be distracted from hockey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. Y'ALL. I have missed writing this SO MUCH and I think of this fic every darn day. The very beginning is the preview I posted awhile ago but most of this is all new!

He can’t breathe.

He knows that  _ohhh_.

Last night he  _caused_  that  _ohhh_.

He’s going to be touching himself thinking of that  _ohhh_  for years to come.

And now it’s pouring over the ears of 10,000 people, magnified by 1000 with the Falcs’ deluxe sound system and how is everyone not hearing how sexual this is? Jack was in the juniors when he first discovered how much it hurts to get hard while wearing an athletic cup and he’s a grown man now but it’s still  _extremely uncomfortable_ , thank you very much, and how could he be alone in this?

He glances around wildly and, okay, Tater and Snowy do look like they’re having a moment but everyone else seems to think this is an ordinary rendition of the anthem.

Maybe… maybe he’s just too sensitive? It’s been too long since he got laid, and even longer since he had a man moaning in his ears, and it’s so rare for a man to be singing the anthem that he’s just associating the two? Eric on his mind?

He forces himself to look up at the jumbotron, 2 screens showing an American flag waving in a breeze that’s decidedly not present in the arena, and the middle one focused on the singer. His Lady Liberty garb established, it’s zooming in on the face and- and-  _is_  that Eric?

No- yes- it has to be. It can’t.

The makeup is exquisitely done, with a lot of what Snowy refers to as  _contouring_  because the resemblance to the actual statue is uncanny and nothing that could have been achieved naturally. The not-patina shimmer is spread over his skin and he’s singing mostly with his eyes shut but when he flutters them open, they’re big and brown and beautiful.

 _Fuck_. Maybe it’s coincidence. He searches for more clues and sees blonde bangs with that same shimmer peeking out just so from the spiked crown.

It’s not. There’s probably plenty of singers and even more gay guys with trendy blonde hair and brown eyes and slender figures. Eric is a  _motivational speaker_  for crying out loud.

Just because Jack was lying doesn’t mean Eric was, too.

The song builds to the final crescendo and the mysterious “B” switches effortlessly to a flawless falsetto for,  _“laaaand of the freeeeeeee”_  and sticks with it through,  _“and the home of the braaaaaave”_  with some dizzying vocalizing on the last word that demonstrates an incredible amount of skill, muscle control, and breath support. After finishing, he fixes a stern expression on his face and raises the flaming “torch” into the air in a perfect replica of the real Statue of Liberty.

The crowd is going wild. There’s always cheers and yells after the anthem, of course, but this time there’s screaming, so much  _screaming_ , as if hundreds of teen girls have suddenly discovered hockey.

Or they’re such devout fans of this guy they’d pay for full-price hockey tickets just to hear him sing for 60 seconds. Or….

 _“My job is so… so_ on _, loud and full of enthusiasm and I guess you’d say presence and all the people….”_

_“I go around the country and offer queer teens hope…”_

_“I try to give them an outlet, a safe way to express themselves…”_

_“…vocal exercises and warm-ups…”_

_“…wardrobe and make-up….”_

Motivational speakers don’t do wardrobe and make-up. They get dressed and they appear in auditoriums and gymnasiums and even if they’re on-screen it’s fine. Make-up is for things like the studio appearances Jack and the other guys are forced into occasionally, with assistants fussing to find a way to make their skin tone look accurate and their features pop under the harsh television lights.

Or for pop stars?

Speakers get up on stage and they  _talk_. They have to be good at it and maybe they do different voices and joke around and their voices are important but not even the good ones would spend an entire morning in absolute silence with a near stranger just because they got a little bit raspy the night before, right? And do vocal exercise stuff multiple times a day? Or go silent so often that their friend (? co-worker? assistant?) was utterly unsurprised by it?

The crowd is still screaming. Tater and Snowy are yelling, “Bit-tee Bit-tee Bit-tee!”

It can’t be. Not his Eric, with the soft smile and small touches, hanging out in a bar in an oversized hoodie.

The solemn figure relaxes, takes a bow, and flashes the arena a brilliant smile, before turning and striding off the ice, robes swirling lightly around his sandaled feet.

A smile like sunshine.

 _Fuck_.

Jack doesn’t feel the least bit aroused, but he’s still hard and his dick is aching uncomfortably within the strict confinement of his insufficiently cushioned cup.

The performance of the Canadian anthem doesn't register for Jack, or for the rest of the arena, if the ongoing noise is any indication.

A whistle sounds and Coach sends him over the boards for the face-off.

 _Fuck fuck fuck_.

Jack loses the face-off and makes three mistakes in one shift. He can’t focus. The lines are swapped out and Coach yells at him but it’s like meaningless ringing in his ears.

He’s still not breathing right.  _Is it Eric is it is it is it._

Tater claps him on the shoulder. “Must be better, Zimmboni! Bitty is watching!”

 _Crisse_. Yes.

Either this isn’t Eric, and Jack needs to give the game his all, so he can feel good about it and himself and carry that into whatever happens after the game.

Or…. this  _is_  Eric and he’s watching them play.

_He’s watching Jack play._

And Jack may be a lot of things but even when he’s awkward and anti-social and too scared to get laid and avoiding the media and getting nervous around fans, he is  _still very good at hockey_.

He repeats it to himself the way his therapist taught him.  _I am Jack Zimmermann, I am the Providence Falconer’s lead scorer and alternate captain, I play center on the first line, this is my third year in the NHL and I was one of the top ten scorers in the entire league my first two years. These are facts that do not change, no matter how I feel about myself._

Couch sends him out again.

Jack jumps the boards and hits the ice.

He skates hard and fast, shows off his edges, and when Tater snatches the puck away from the Ducks’ forward and sends it halfway across the rink to Jack, he ricochets it immediately to Marty, darts behind the d-men to receive it back, and one times it into the goal. Marty and Poots reach him first for the celly, with Tater and Thirdy close behind, and Jack has to fight not to search for a certain blonde head in the stands.

Or one of the VIP boxes? The owner’s private box?

There’re too many possibilities.

 _Hockey._  Win the game, then get answers.

Jack sinks into the rhythm of the game, but the heightened awareness doesn’t let up. He finds alternatives to checking when he can, playing a quick game of skill instead of a brutal one of power, anxious about seeming aggressive. He employs all his best stick-handling and footwork tricks, even when it’s entirely unnecessary for the play.

When they’re playing well and winning, the coaches specifically  _don’t_  want them trying to go at 110% the whole time, particularly when there’s over 80 games to go in the regular season. But Jack is not listening tonight.

Another goal second period.   
He waves while skating a tight circle, hoping big brown eyes are watching his smile. 

Ducks’ third line gets a lucky goal to make it 2-1.

In-between periods the locker is excited and abuzz but Jack lets even the talk about the mysterious and captivating Bitty wash over his ears. He breaths, chugs Gatorade, and focuses his mind.

Third period the Ducks’ are determined to shut him out. He wants a hat trick, aches for it, but he’s self-aware enough to know his motives are impure. He doesn’t take risky shots when he knows it will only lead to turnovers. Instead, he draws the defenders away, dekes one way, fakes a shot, then backhands it to Poots, who one-times it while the goalie is watching Jack fake stick-handling like he still has possession.

The Ducks’ d-men are furious and hiss that he’s trying to make them look like fools as they check him again and again. He keeps goading them into chasing him then passing the puck out of their reach. He even wheels around the back door, knowing his turns are sharper and faster, and ricochets it out to Marty who sinks it into the pocket. 2 goals and 2 assists for Jack.

In the last minutes of the game, Jack’s on the bench when the Ducks pull their goalie and manage to squeak in a goal to make the final score 4-2.

Jack is more deliberate with his hugs when the buzzer sounds and they’re back on the ice. He claps Snowy on the shoulders and bumps helmets, lets Tater noogie his hair once his helmet’s off, doesn’t pull away when Marty and Thirdy  _both_ call him “kid.”

He even smiles during the handshake lines instead of his usual stern face of acknowledgement. Tells the Ducks’ smallest forward that he’s got some good speed and the largest that his edges will crisp up if he keeps working at it.

He shucks his pads as quickly as he can once they hit the locker room. Gotta hide his marks, gotta finish the shower before the guys start so no one sees the bite on his ass, gotta be done with his shower and fully dressed before the press shows, gotta give himself extra time to look nice even though there’s few options, just a fitted Falconers tee and basketball shorts for post-game press talk.

He thought that if Eric texted after work, he’d have time to go home and change.

He checks his phone. Nothing. The usual post-game texts from his parents and Shitty's live-texting of every game he attends, but whatever.

He’s down to his Under Armour when a security guard pokes in his head and barks, “Zimmermann! Visitor in the hallway!”

That’s it. He’s done. Larissa or one of Eric’s (Bitty’s????) lackeys is taking him out for a private talk, warning him away, demanding or pleading for his silence, and thrusting a hasty NDA at him. Possibly saying some tart things about Jack’s deception and the cruel joke that awaited America’s pop star when he discovered the truth.

After a few shaky breaths, he fixes on his media face, and strides out of the locker room, head high, posture stern.

Maybe he’ll be lucky.

Maybe Larissa will be kind.

Maybe she’ll say she understands why Jack had to hide, and Eric does, too, and that nothing will happen and they’ll guard his secret and all he has to do is stay silent and stay away.

A flying tackle knocks his head back into the wall.

“JACKABELLE! You mother-loving Adonis, look at YOU!!! Extra sexy fire tonight, those bastards robbing you of a hat trick, tearing up the ice, filthy wrister, if THIS is the effect that last night had on you than Jacky, my precious prince, we need to make it happen more often!! Hockey demands- wait- JackJack- what’s wrong?”

Jack is trembling in Shitty’s arms.

Shitty pulls his arms back from Jack’s chest and carefully presses him against the wall, full-length, before wrapping his arms around Jack’s shoulders and tugging his head down to his neck. “Shhh, hey, Jack-a-pie, I got you, I got you, heyyyy, breathe with me, come on.”

Jack squirms enough to glance around but the security guard has retreated to the hallway entrance 20 yards away, his back to them as he gazes out. Jack finally lets his body slump forward and return Shitty’s embrace.

He whisper-gasps, “I think I fucked up, Shits.”

“Heyyy, no, you, never. Is this about your pretty blonde? Because from what you said, they were really fucking into you and if their work runs late, that’s not on you man, not at all, sometimes these things just happen, and it’s not your fault. Unless… did you hear something?”

Jack is ridiculously grateful for Shitty, the way he didn’t flinch even though Jack almost never swears aloud, his effortless use of gender-neutral pronouns, this hug right here, everything. He finally gets out, “Tonight… I think I saw….”

“Here? At the game? Even though there was zero recognition last night? I thought blondie had a work thing, some speech or presentation or whatever.”

Jack laughs painfully. “Yeah. About that…..” He pulls reluctantly away from Shitty’s warmth and leans back against the wall. “I…. I need you to look something up for me.”

“Anything, man, you know that. Some lawyer shit needs happening, and I’m there.”

“Not… not research. Just Google.”

“Alright, one sec.” He listens to Shitty rummage through his pockets and tap at his phone. “Name it.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, feels the echo and commotion of the guys on the other side of the cinder block behind him, muted yet close.

“I need…. a name. The singer tonight. His name.”

“Aw, shit, dude, most of the arena here could tell you that. Bitty. B-i-t-t-y. Like Prince or Madonna or whatever. Fashion sense an ultra-classy and sexy gay mash-up of Prince, David Bowie, Freddie Mercury, and Lady Gaga, too.”

“No, Shits, a  _real_  name. Please.” He’s whispering again, pleading, but he can’t seem to stop, can’t seem to make his throat work properly.

“Yeah, man, I’ll Wikipedia it, hold up. Wait…… Jackaby, are you asking what I think I’m asking?!?”

“I don’t know, Shits, I don’t  _know_ , please, please just tell me.” Voice barely a whimper now.

“Tiny blonde, big brown eyes, stylish uppercut, graceful, body like a dancer?”

“He…. looks like sunshine when he smiles.”

 _“Jackabelle_. No way not even you wouldn’t recognize America’s biggest gay star, with the shimmering and the sparkles and the-”

“No! Not last night. Not Eric. Just jeans and a hoodie pulled up around his face until we were alone.”

“Fucking hell, dude.”

“Please, Shits.  _Please_.”

“Alright, alright, here we go. Wikipedia.com, search for Bitty, b-i-t-t-y, no I don’t want Bitty Babies, fuck off Mattel, yes I mean the pop star, loading, here it is, it’s…..”

Jack presses his fingers into the wall until he can feel the tips turn white.

“….birth name Eric. Eric. Richard. Bittle. Bitty.”

The words hit Jack like a smack across the face and he fights to keep breathing. Fantasies he didn’t even know he had are shredding in his mind; looking up Eric’s speaking appearances, texting about travel woes, comparing restaurants they found in major cities over Skype and- maybe- every so often, their schedules working out just right and sneaking out again, or sexiling Tater and slipping Eric into his room under the pretense of catching up with an old friend. Slender jeans, oversized hoodies, peach tea, and incredible snacks made in a hotel microwave.

Shitty clears his throat awkwardly and Jack crashes back to reality, achingly reminded that his imagination is too often his worst enemy. There's a long silence before Shitty finally manages, “.....helluva coincidence, maybe?”

The cinder block of the wall is rough and unyielding against his palms, painful against the back of his head, but he pushes into it until he can force himself to open his eyes again. “His…. His dad. There’s always a section with family stuff…. ‘Early Years’?”

“Yeah, man. Hold up…. his pops even has his own Wikipedia page. What’m’I lookin’ for?”

“Coach. Football. High school. Really good. Lots of scholarships.”

“Ahhhhh… how about an award-winning head football coach of a program with the best scholarship to school size ratio of any institution south of the Mason-Dixon line?”

They stare at each other for a minute, Shitty’s green eyes dark with concern.

Jack licks his lips, mind reeling. “I… I lied. I lied to him. If he knows who I am, then he knows I lied to him. I…. false pretenses.”

“Brah, did he or did he not tell you he was a motivational speaker?”

“He…. He asked for honesty. And I- I- he’s…. he’s probably laughing at me right now. If he… since he’s… he could have anyone he wanted. And I was the dumb jock cliché, awkward, inexperienced, clueless…. _Calisse de crisse_ , he must think I live under a rock!”

“Hey. Hey now, brah, you are _not_ doing this to yourself. Not now.” Shitty shakes his shoulders and crowds in close. “Picture it. You worry about gold-diggers and fame whores, Jackabelle, but what he lives through every day is on a scale you and I can’t even dream of. Think about it. For one night, just _one fucking night_ , he got to leave his name and reputation behind and just be a cute boy meeting a cute boy at a bar and having a nice time. How many shy history nerds do you think he meets in L-fucking-A?”

“So I’m a novelty. Great.”

“No, Jackaby, you listen to me. This man has evading the paparazzi down to an _art form_. He’s more famous than you. He’s richer than you. He doesn’t want your money or your name or your reputation. He’s never going to be tempted to rat you out to TMZ for ten fucking grand and he fights for every scrap of privacy he has. He knows how to keep his mouth shut and he knows what it’s like to have the media pick apart your every move and he knows how to fucking keep you away from the cameras and under their radar. He’s the fuckin’ safest hookup you could possibly have.”

“But- but-”

“He chose _you_ , Jackie-Laurie. I don’t frigging know what’s going to happen tonight now that neither of you can pretend that you’re just suspiciously attractive everymen but he is never, ever going to out you. He has an entire fucking revenge anthem about what he wants to do to slimeballs that do that shit.”

“I- I-” Sound swirls from far away, a muted crash coming closer, down the hall and around the corner. The press coming for post games. They both flinch in recognition and Shitty swears impressively before rummaging through the messenger bag he insists on referring to as a purse. He squeezes Jack tight for a long moment.

“You got this, mah dude. Whatever happens tonight, you keep me posted and you stay safe, yeah? No letting your baggage about fame and your sainted mother’s world keep you from having a nice time.”

When he pulls away, he shoves something into Jack’s hand and shoulders him in the direction of the locker room before striding off the counter, looking back once to blow extravagant kisses. Jack’s heart clenches at the reminder of how he left Eric this morning and he hurries into the locker room, not registering the bundle in his hand until he’s safely back into the stall.

It’s a brown paper lunch bag, both innocent and suggestive in its plainness, and only half-full so as to go unnoticed at the bottom of Shitty’s bag during security checks. He peeks around but his teammates are mostly still in the showers and no one’s nearby.

He’d entirely forgotten Shitty’s original mission, had forgotten all about nearly everything else since seeing that beautiful figure on the ice. The bag's contents seem almost banal now, too crude and commonplace for the gorgeous man who’s apparently idol to both Tater and Snowy. 2 pairs of latex gloves, different sizes. 2 strips of high-end condoms, different sizes. 2 small bottles of anal lubricant, one water-based and one silicone-based. He hastily crumples it shut and stuffs it into the bottom of his gear bag, stripping quickly and carefully wrapping towels around both his hips and his shoulders.

He just barely finishes dressing by the time the press is finally allowed in the locker room and they beeline straight towards him, as always. They know he won’t stick around for them, even though there’s more than usual, more even than what’s standard for their season-openers. His hair is uncombed, his bangs flopping wetly down onto his forehead, but he hastily shoves on a Falconers cap to hide the disarray and gets his media face in place.

There’s at least 5 minutes of hockey questions, interrogating their off-season trainings, the way the pre-season games mostly showcased the rookies and switched up the lines so Jack and the other veterans could take it easy, the Falcs’ strategy for this season and if he thinks they can finally bring home a Cup, the same questions he’s been hearing for years, almost comforting in their predictability. His heartrate has a chance to calm and his thoughts re-focus under the barrage of tediousness.

Of course, that’s when the press grows impatient to talk about something else. “So, Zimmermann, what did you think of the national anthem performance tonight?”

Jack smiles tightly but he’s firmly in media mode and he’s got this. “Bitty is a professional and he did an incredible job. We’re honored to have him help start our season off right.”

“What did you think about having a _man_ performing the national anthem?”

“The Falconers have always valued their commitment to diversity and inclusion, regardless of gender or sexual orientation. If you can sing, you can sing, eh?”

“Big fan of Bitty, then?”

 _Crisse_. If they only knew how much. And it's Eric himself that gave Jack the words to answer this. “Bitty is an incredible role model. He offers queer teens hope that life will get better, a safe way to express themselves, and reassurance that they’re not alone.”

“We’ll take that as a yes. So tell us, Zimmermann, what’s your favorite Bitty song?”

 _Crisse de câlice de tabarnak d'esti de sacrament_. He stares blankly at the reporter for a moment, stubbornly refusing to look into the camera as his mind frantically searches for the lyrics he heard before grating out, “Er, a number of the guys were dancing to ‘Run Around’ before the game.”

“That- that’s not- is-?” There’s some hurried whispers among the press before one frowns at him and says, “None of his songs have that title. Are you talking about ‘Nice Boy’?”

Is he? It seems familiar but that didn’t feel like the line Snowy and the others had been emphasizing. “Euh- yes. That one.”

The reporter raises an eyebrow- not nearly as impressively as Larissa- and says, “You want to try that again?”

“Snowy led the team in singing, ‘Outlive outlove outlast’ on our way onto the ice tonight.”

“You mean, ‘Anthem for a Survivor’?”

Jack just looks at them. He can’t make it better. The most he can do is deny them a soundbite of him making any more of a fool of himself. The sound in the locker room has shifted as some of the nearby guys realize something’s gone wrong with his interview. Above the heads of the reporters, Tater gestures wildly in a frantic game of charades that Jack doesn’t dare guess. The media will get tired of him eventually.

But the reporter, unfamiliar, with a logo Jack doesn’t recognize, is relentless. “Last chance, Mr. Zimmermann. What’s your favorite Bitty song? Name one. Any one.” There's a sneer on his face.

It’s too much. It’s all too much. The reporters are too close and the lights are too bright and the air is too stale and there’s nothing he can say. He doesn't know who Bitty is. He doesn't know his music. He doesn't even know who he really slept with last night.

Jack scowls as much as his media training will allow and grates out, “Ask me next week,” before standing and stalking off.

Tater rushes to take his place, shouting, “I am biggest Bitty fan on the Falconers! Snowy second biggest! You ask us the Bitty questions!”

Snowy claps his hand on Jack’s shoulder as he pushes to Tater’s side and Jack grabs his gear bag and storms out of the locker room, ignoring Marty and Thirdy’s worried looks. Snowy and Tater will cover for him as best they can, work to give great soundbites that will hopefully captivate the media enough that Jack’s failure will go underreported and unbroadcast.

Tater in particular is good at that, seeing when Jack is floundering or getting too tense behind his media mask and spectacularly interrupting with a prank or deliberately outrageous comments, drawing the camera away and letting Jack escape, or making him seem like a deliberate straight man to Tater’s antics.

Jack makes a mental note to thank him later but for now he’s in turmoil as he strides down the half-deserted back hallways. He stops abruptly just around the corner from the family lounge where they’re supposed to be meeting… Bitty… as a team and thanking him for coming out.

Should Jack even go? He’s an alternate captain and he has responsibilities. He can’t appear ungracious or unwelcoming or it’ll spark rumors of homophobia. But Eric had said he might be able to text Jack when he was done with work and if Jack is there, how will Eric slip away? If Jack goes and stays and talks and talks, will Eric think Jack is avoiding the chance to be alone with him? Or will he realize that Jack can’t tear himself away from his presence, even if they’re confined to small talk and distant smiles? Or has Eric only agreed to the team meeting to see Jack? Eric is warm and considerate and so kind, how could he possibly turn down Tater’s inevitable invitation to join them for their standard post-game team pasta dinner?

If, that is, Eric is really Bitty. But how could Shitty’s intel- Wikipedia itself- be that wrong about someone so famous?

He checks his phone again. Still nothing. But then, if Eric is Bitty, he’s still doing media appearances of his own and probably has no space or privacy to be texting last night’s hookup.

Only one way to be sure. He needs to see this… Bitty… up close, see if the eyes and the smile and the lovely, strong body are the same or if it was just a trick of the distance and Jack’s desperate vulnerability.

There’s an _ohhhh_ still echoing through his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life has been..... HNGHHH ERRGGG NHHHHH GTLEKJ;KJK lately. Nothing life-threathening but I've had to tackle it 110% with no time left for writing. But I promise you, I think about this fic every darn day, so much so that I am months into the storyline and have fleshed out so much of the upcoming chapters in my head.
> 
> I love you all. Thank you for your patience. Still not beta'd so please let me know of mistakes. And- most of all- please, pretty please tell me what you like the best. I am very new to writing fiction instead of endless essays for class and I want to know what works and what I need to work on so I can make later chapters that much better! There's so much stuff I want to show and not just say outright but I can't tell if it's obvious, like Jack swearing plenty in his head but only occasionally out loud, and I'm not sure how well it's working.
> 
> A few notes about the fic itself: Jack struggles a lot with his anxiety and so much other stuff that he's deeply internalized- issues surrounding masculinity, self-image, self-loathing, homophobia and biphobia, sex- and body-negativity. He's been so strictly self-regulated for so long that he can't even comprehend what it may be like to not just be freely out, but to shimmer and sparkle unapologetically the way that Bitty does. He gets there, and he's learning but just a heads up. Me to Jack: It's okay to have nice things! And that includes good sex! http://luragroen.blogspot.com/2016/04/i-hope-you-have-only-good-sex.html (how do I embed URLs in the notes?)
> 
> And his anxiety is going to pop up at some level in nearly every chapter but when he does have panic attacks, I'm going to be clear about what's happening but not in so much detail that it makes my own heart race or breath come short so it hopefully won't be too triggering.
> 
> Oh, do I love Tater in this. I can't wait to introduce his side-story, as seen through Jack's very oblivious and confused eyes.
> 
> Gift explanations! Andrealyn's "ready for my close-up, mr. dameron" is the AU that convinced me to take a chance on AUs. And it was so many of my favorite FinnPoe writers also writing Check, Please! fic that inspired me to check out the comic. Check it out here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5589388?view_full_work=true And it was "Blue-Eyed Jack" by The_one_that_fell that inspired me so much my brain started writing up lyrics, just for a Bitty that's more glamorous pop/rock and a Jack that's utterly clueless to anything that isn't dad rock or classic country and how the two could possibly come together. Read it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11928324

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd so please let me know of any mistakes!! It is so hard sometimes for my grammatical brain to type the way I think the characters actually talk and think but I'm worried I may have missed any genuine errors.
> 
> Will explain the reason for the gifts when I post chapter 3.5. Will keep updating the tags as I go on! But no worries, no archive warnings here. Just want to keep a few things a surprise for now! :D :D :D
> 
> Fic right now (and yeah, the chapters are pretty short, this is not going to be a huge epic, after chapter 5 it's just glimpses at their lives here and there with time jumps in between):  
> Chapter 1: Friday night part 1, Strangers Meet  
> Chapter 2: Friday night, part 2, Not a Hook-Up Sort of Kiss  
> Chapter 3: Saturday morning and afternoon, Anthems  
> Chapter 3.5: Saturday night, Revelations  
> Chapter 4: Sunday, Aftershocks  
> Chapter 5: Jack Has To Think About This (aka Does Music Make The Man?)  
> Chapter 6: An Unexpected Visit  
> Chapter 7: A More Expected Visit  
> Chapter 8: Jack Is An Inspiration But Does He Like It?  
> Chapter 8.5?: Public/Private- Jack's Dichotomy  
> Chapter 9: Jack Loses So Hard He Wins  
> Chapter 10: Awarding Ignorance  
> Chapter 11: (bonus chapter) A Very Hidden Halloween
> 
> Somewhere in there Shitty meets Lardo and it is epic and at some point the truth about Ransom & Holster is revealed, just not sure yet if those will be separate chapters or incorporated somewhere.


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